Night Flight
by Massanie
Summary: When Harry becomes the first submissive Vykélari in over two centuries, Lucius wants his power bound to the Malfoy name by all means necessary. Now he only has to persuade Draco and his fiancé to kidnap and mate with him - no hardship with their instincts and Slytherin ambition. The only problem: the submissive is not quite so submissive at all. Creature!Fic. Sub!Harry. HP/DM/BZ
1. 222

**CHAPTER 1: 222**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I guess I should warn everyone that I didn't really read books 6 and 7, found them too frustrating and depressing… that means I'll try to stick to the original story as best as I can without having read it. There are going to be some changes though: I am totally 100% refusing to accept the deaths of Tonks, Lupin and Fred. Honestly I cannot bear the thought of George being left behind and Teddy growing up without his parents.  
I don't even know yet if any of them will play any important role, but still I find even the thought too depressing…

* * *

It was the 9th of July, 1998, just a few days past the two-month mark after the Battle of Hogwarts, as wizards and witches in all of Britain had already started to call it in the euphoria that drowned the wizarding community after the Dark Lord's fall.

It was to be a full moon that night; the 222nd full moon of Harry Potter's life and although the young wizard didn't know it yet, it would mean yet another pivotal turning point in his life.

* * *

"An unparalleled chaos!" Arthur Weasley said tiredly in answer to Ron's inquiry of how things stood in the ministry, stabbing the slice of roast meat on his plate rather viciously – a highly unusual sight for the Weasley patron.

Immediately after Voldemort's fall on the 2nd of May there had been a torrent of prosecutions and arrests. With their lord's demise, the once-steely determination of his followers had collapsed like a tumbler. In the desperate attempt to spare themselves years of imprisonment, and worse, many tried to sell whatever information they could to the Aurors, whom, in turn, were so hopelessly understaffed that Ministry employees of other departments who were not already working to capacity were deployed with the duty of filing and evaluating that information.  
And that was an organisational nightmare.

"No one really knows what the other does. Information gets scrambled, or lost. We have too few capable people available to validate and keep track of everything, never mind finding the connections between all those hints we get. And that is why people like Malfoy, who have the money and the right friends to get rid of compromising evidence and maybe even place false clues are going to go free!"

"He's not going to be sentenced?!" Ron exclaimed angrily.

"I don't think so, no. He claims that the Dark Lord black-mailed him with threats on his family. The same goes for the younger Malfoy, who has already been acquitted, as you well know." With that, he glanced up from his dinner towards Harry briefly, his expression carefully blank, before he looked down again.

"Malfoy and his mother saved my life…" Harry stressed calmly, but inwards he was fighting with his irritation at the lack of understanding. Sometimes it felt as if his surrogate family blamed him for witnessing for the Slytherin who had been his arch-nemesis for so long and for his mother. He knew it wasn't true, though they didn't truly comprehend it either, and they didn't allow any chance to mention it to lapse away. But, damn it, after everything he had seen and lived through, could anyone really blame him if he found such petty feuds pointless? Did anyone even remember the real reason behind their futile, time-consuming fights?  
'Because Malfoy was a snobbish prat in his youth' just sounded somewhat ridiculous and irrelevant after having died – death certainly had a way of putting things into perspective.  
Especially since Draco had saved him with his silence in Malfoy Manor, since Narcissa had saved him with her clever lie and he himself had saved Draco from the Fiendfyre, closing the circle, Harry found it hard to keep holding onto their shared hatred, steeped in tradition though it might be. Whenever he thought of the two of them he remembered that moment when Narcissa had whispered to him, asking about her son and he kept seeing the fear for her child in the proud woman's eyes just in front of his inner eye. No, somehow after all that he just couldn't allow her and her son to go to prison.

Perhaps Lucius would deserve such a fate, but he was a different matter altogether.

Oh, Harry knew very well that Voldemort had threatened the son to keep the parents in line and vice versa. However the Malfoy patron had been a Death Eater long before then and had killed and tortured more than his fair share of muggles and muggle-borns, which _wasn't_ true for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. So, who was he to judge them?

Flushing, he became well aware of the raised eyebrows directed his way and he coughed slightly, never really comfortable with being in the middle of so much criticising attention.  
"You know, the way it seemed to me, what they said was very likely true…" he said finally, and tensed in spite of himself; because he knew whatever he said would not save him from this discussion. That much he had learned over the previous week after the Malfoy heir's acquittal.

"Oh, come on, mate!" Ron spoke up, his patronizing voice and expression telling the dark haired wizard just how naïve he thought him to be.  
"Draco Malfoy is a cruel, petty tyrant; always was and always will be. His father was a Death Eater; he tortured and killed people, for fun! We all _know_ the ferret would have, too, but for the fact that he's an insufferable coward!"

"I think being afraid and having a conscience is something different, Ron. And you know that I'm not speaking of Lucius Malfoy."

"And I think you are too nice for the world, sometimes, Harry." Ginny quipped in an affectionate voice that was somehow just as patronizing as Ron's had been. "It's not as if anyone in that family wouldn't deserve…"

"Do we _have_ to have this discussion every evening?" Molly called out, more loudly than necessary to silence her daughter and everyone else; her pointed glance rushed over them all with furious disapproval – over Ginny's flushing face and Ron's defiant glare that wilted under her own, to Arthur's apologetic expression and at last to Harry. Her gaze remained on him.

Really, in a way Harry could sympathize with her but nonetheless he pressed his lips together tightly, irritated at being put off like that and at the way she kept _staring_. Why was it his fault now? If they didn't want to hear him out, why did they bring it up in the first place?  
But still, he shrugged with a for-your-sake expression and let the matter rest. Merlin, he was tired of fighting.

"Are you alright, Harry dear?" Molly asked cautiously, still eying him. "You look awfully pale."

"Fine," he muttered, looking up from his now empty plate with what he hoped was an indifferent expression. "Really I…" but then his voice died away and he gasped for air in surprise and shock: a weird, tugging sensation overcame him like a shockwave that made him flinch. His fingers started to tingle and prick before they went painfully cold, the feeling spreading through his stiffening knuckles like frost and ice.  
It felt horribly as if his very life was pulled back from his limbs up into his torso, leaving them aching with weakness. And it just kept on retreating as if something ripped at the insubstantial force that kept him alive; the little sparks of magic running through his body.  
"Oh, god!" he muttered in sheer horror, shivers and violent tremors running down his spine, making his skin crawl and his body shake. Something was sucking up his magic from within!

Harry reached out, his fingers clawing at the table wood as he desperately tried to fight that black hole his magic was vanishing into. He bit his lips so hard he drew blood, the metallic taste exploding in his mouth, making him feel strangely sick, affecting him more than it normally would have. His limbs shook violently, whether from the horror that surged up in him, from the chills that seemed to have been implanted directly into his heart, or from weakness, he didn't know; only vaguely did he hear the others call out for him as if through a haze.

Suddenly his eyes lost their focus and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, staring up at dizzying blobs of bright red and white and so many swirling colours in between. "Something … something is taking my magic…" he forced the hoarse words out, his green eyes staring up in wide-eyed terror.

Then it was gone. Just gone. He had never felt so weak and desperate and _vulnerable_...  
The one thing that had gained him a home, a family, friends; that had protected him from his would-be murderers … it was gone. His magic was not there any longer!  
He had never been so painfully aware of how a muggle must feel without that inner power to strengthen them. He had always had it even though he hadn't known it for the first eleven years of his life. Now it was gone and that loss was more bitter and terrible than he could have imagined.

In the next moment, pain exploded behind his eyes and his vision filled up quickly with small dots of nothingness that grew and melted together. Horrified he kept on watching as his sight fled, holding onto the last spots of colour until they, too, vanished into darkness.  
A panicked cry escaped him. He was blind.

Then that cruel, black something attacked his ears and he screamed as he felt as if acid was being poured into his ear canals. At least until his voice gave way rather abruptly, leaving him in mindless pain that rivalled that of the Cruciatus curse, unable to relieve some of the agony with screams.

He lost his consciousness soon after.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Please let me know if you'd like me to continue with this story. I have much to do at the moment but if it is appreciated I would very gladly continue with this.


	2. Midnight Call

**CHAPTER 2: Midnight Call**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Uhm... okay ;-). That was more positive resonance than I expected... so thank you very, very much and yeah, as long as I find the time, I'll continue with this.  
But just to warn you: I'm studying Informatics and I have two side jobs at the moment and another story to finish, so time is somewhat limited at the moment. Furthermore I'm no native speaker and that slows me down somewhat as well (thank God for online dictionaries ;-) )  
I promise to do my best, though, if you promise to be patient with me :-)

* * *

Malfoy Manor was currently the place of another, not necessarily less important, though certainly less dramatic, event: the engagement party of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Blaise Alain Zabini.

The news had come as quite a shocking surprise to Britain's wizarding society. After all it had been merely a week prior that Draco Malfoy and his mother had been acquitted from their charges. Even more surprising for their closer friends and relatives was that it had been Blaise who had proposed to his long-time friend and lover. Equally as beautiful as his mother, the only Zabini scion was just as reserved as she was – at least around most people – and it had been the general opinion that if one of them would dare to take that next step, it would be Draco and not Blaise.

When it was rumoured that the attractive Italian had taken the Malfoy heir to one of his family's estates in Italy immediately after the trial, obviously having correctly anticipated the results, most of their pureblood relatives and friends were therefore rightfully surprised; more so when Narcissa Malfoy began – just the following day – to extend invitations for her son's engagement party, to be held in Malfoy Manor.

But then again, it was the second full moon after both of their 222nd and therefore the perfect date for such an occasion; even if Lucius Malfoy himself was not yet released from all of his charges. But really, that was just a matter of time anyway and as long as the Malfoy patron was able to attend – and he could, being conveniently under house arrest by force of an Unbreakable Vow until his own trial someday at the end of the month – one could ignore that unfortunate circumstance.

It was already past midnight and the circle of friends and family members had long since withdrawn to one of the manor's larger and more festive parlours, a large, brightly illuminated room that reached out into the gardens behind the manor, visible through the impressive window front.  
That particular parlour was one of Narcissa's masterpieces, one she had completely redesigned in a neoclassical style after she had wedded into the Malfoy family. Richly decorated, white pillars separated the tall windows that reached up to the high ceiling that in itself was covered by delicately chiselled mouldings. The aesthetic wallpaper, the curtains and the furniture's upholstery were of different soft shades of green, blending beautifully and the settees, arm chairs, tea tables and other more decorative pieces of furniture were made of a pale wood with intricate carvings.  
It was what Narcissa privately called 'her Arena', the place where she could show just how gifted a social tactician she was. And indeed, mostly thanks to her the evening had so far been a full success: Narcissa was seemingly everywhere at once, steering conversations away from critical topics while ostensibly highlighting aspects of her guests that other's would find interesting (which mostly meant profitable) enough to be polite, as well as ensuring that the more difficult personalities did not come into prolonged direct contact with each other. That, coupled with the fact that both families were highly influential in and of themselves, and very much interested in improving their own political and societal standing through each other, made the evening quite productive and enjoyable and both Blaise and Draco were very much relieved that their respective families seemed to get along just fine.

The evening, however, was drawing to a close and the newly engaged couple was just returning from seeing off the first of their guests – a great-aunt of Blaise's and her husband – when Draco saw a house elf levitating a salver with a missive lying on the shining surface towards his father. The elf itself was standing unobtrusively at one side of the large parlour and his interest instantly piqued. The house elves had been directed to not disturb the party with any matter that could not be resolved in the morning, yet, here one was, and that meant it was something pressing.

Attentively, Draco watched as his father excused himself from the conversation with Blaise's mother, Amalyne Zabini, and stepped aside to unfold the small piece of parchment, his mouth tightening in irritation as his eyes scanned the content. Then a moment later he glanced around the room and Draco followed his movements with narrowed eyes as his father strode over to his mother, gracefully manoeuvring around their guests.  
Gently, he touched her at the elbow to draw her attention and whispered something in her ear. Narcissa drew back, watching her pale blonde husband intently for a few moments before inclining her head.

And with that, Lucius Malfoy turned and left the room.

Draco frowned, his curiosity getting the better of him. However he was very much aware of Blaise's presence next to him and why they were both here. This was their engagement party, one he couldn't just leave.  
Suppressing a sigh, Draco turned just to find his boyfriend smirking at him with barely concealed amusement. No, his fiancé, he reminded himself with a smile. After three years of calling him the former, that would take some readjusting.

His smile widened as Blaise pulled him closer, locking his arms around his waist, leaning forwards to murmur lowly against his ear "Go on if you'd like."

Draco merely cocked his head at his lover in mock offence, evading the other's heady closeness. "I'm not in the habit of following or sneaking after my father…"

"Then let us go together." Blaise said softly, knowing that his lover didn't want anyone to hear of his concern for his father that he himself perceived as weakness. Blaise's warm eyes searched Draco's pale, grey ones. "He seemed a little bit tense, and I _know_ you will be, too, until you've assured yourself that it's nothing."

"I don't…"

"Come on, it's not as if they would miss us."

"Not yet." Draco relented. "But the first are about to leave and we have to see them off. It's fine, really!" he added, when Blaise began to object.

"This is _our_ engagement party, Blaise, come, and let's enjoy it." and with that he steered his fiancé back towards their guests.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stepped into his study and almost sneered in irritation at seeing the head of a young wizard in the fireplace. An unremarkable man with straggly, dirty-blond hair and a nervous flicker in his eyes that showed how uncomfortable he was in the presence of the former Death Eater in front of him. _'As he should be'_ Lucius thought indignantly.

"Healer McAuley, I presume?" he asked, forcing indifference into his voice, lest it might drip with disgust. He inclined his head slightly as he crossed the room and sat down in the leather-upholstered armchair in front of the fireplace.

"Mediwizard, Mr. Malfoy." The young man corrected. "I am very sorry to disturb you."  
He almost stuttered, and it was so painfully obvious that he couldn't bring himself to meet the Malfoy patriarch's steely gaze that Lucius felt his lips tighten again and quite impatiently, he waved for the other to continue. "I'm afraid I do not have much time, Mediwizard McAuley; we have guests."

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry. Your son's engagement party, isn't it? I read it in the announcement you made in the Daily Prophet –"

"Indeed," Lucius drawled. "So, how may I be of assistance?"

The way the brunet took a deep breath told Lucius that this was going to be a long monologue full of evasions and unsatisfactory excuses. He almost sighed at the prospect.

"As a matter of fact, I contacted you because of your position as representative of the Vykélari community in Britain…"

Lucius allowed himself to raise an eyebrow in surprise and leaned forward ever so slightly. Well, _now_ the brat had his undivided attention.

"… you see, this evening we had an emergency. A young man. Showed signs of magical exhaustion; his senses had shut down… vision, hearing, smell, tactile sense; taste might have, too, we're not sure yet. Tested for curses, but negative. That lasted for about ha–"

"If you would come straight to the point." Lucius interrupted, but he knew already where this was heading. A new Vykélari had come into his inheritance; one who hadn't known beforehand that he even bore the genes. And it made him furious that those imbeciles of St Mungo's hadn't alerted him earlier when the youth had first come in. By now, that boy had been locked in his own body with no means of communication nor any knowledge of what was going on for almost four hours – since the moon had risen.  
This one was one of his own kind, an endangered race, for Merlin's sake!

However that irritation paled in contrast to his curiosity. For centuries all Vykélari lines had carefully been tracked, every newborn registered. Either a grave mistake had been made or one of the lost lines had been reactivated. Therefore, he found himself quickly intrigued by the initially unwelcome interruption to his son's engagement party.

"Yes, yes of course. I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy…" If that impertinent fool would stop apologizing so much, he might be faster in getting his point across, Lucius thought impatiently; he needed more information...

"He shows many signs of a Vykélari transformation, but not all of them, so w-we, we were unsure … and the change is too slow, he has not grown at all, so we thought it was a curse. B-but he started growing wings, then, a-and Healer Cowan still thinks he is not a fledging Vykélari, because his claws and canines are much too small and the markings on his forehead and around his eyes and on his body in general are somehow wrong, but I still think we shouldn't rule the possibility out without any proof and I finally decided to go against his–"

"McAuley!" Lucius interrupted the flood of words, his voice harsh and firm, and his eyes cold, hard and so utterly _piercing_. The brunet Mediwizard fell silent.

"At the moment I cannot leave the manor, as you might be aware of." He smoothly said as if the matter of his trial at the end of the month was just a minor interruption to his every day routine. "But the fledgeling must be in the company of other Vykélari to survive his transformation. You have to bring him here to Malfoy Manor."

"W-we cannot do that, Mr. Malfoy" McAuley murmured, hesitating to look into the blonde's grey eyes.

"And why is that?" Lucius growled inauspiciously.

"He is violent and completely throws off any charms at the moment. His magic keeps lashing out at anyone coming too close and his claws, they … Mr. Malfoy they are poisonous. He struck one of the other Mediwizards before we managed to constrain him. The poison affected the blood coagulation. We're still pouring blood replenishing potions into him, but the wounds just won't stop bleeding and –"

"Then he can't be a Vykélari. Our talons are not poisonous."

"Couldn't you send someone? He is growing weaker by the minute. At this rate, he won't last the night… "  
Idly, Lucius wondered why people still tried to play on his non-existent compassionate side. One might think the lack of success would deter people from making the effort. And yet, he might have relented in this case; with his trial so close at hand he could have used some positive publicity to his advantage, but as it stood now…

"I'm afraid I can't help you, as your superior seems to be right: he can't be one of my kind."

"But I know I read about a Vykélari once that poisoned his enemies…" the young wizard insisted.

Lucius almost smirked, a hint of respect glinting in his silver eyes. It seemed the boy was not as stupid as he appeared to be; few knew about that long-lost trait.  
"You are right, submissive ones did indeed have that ability. But the last active line became extinct over 200 years ago, only having brought forth female descendants." It was a pity, really, that the Vykélari genes were Y-linked and therefore could only be given to a male. No daughter could inherit them and therefore become a Vykélari or even transmit the genes to the next generation. Both submissive and dominant Vykélari were therefore essentially male in appearance, even though the submissive ones were able to bear children themselves.

"There have been other inactive lines bearing the submissive traits that brought forth a line of male descendants who were however not powerful enough to induce the submissive inheritance." Lucius continued his explanation in a haughty tone of voice. The transformation on the 222nd full moon of a young fledgeling was a highly precarious and straining event that only the magically powerful would be able to survive. Therefore the body of someone with the necessary Vykélari genes would only allow the genes' activation and the induction of the transformation if there was a possibility of survival. That Lucius himself was an active Vykélari was proof of his outstanding magical strength – even before his transformation, he had lesser features that he was proud of – this was simply something that made him distinctly superior to others, something that should be acknowledged.

"But we only follow those inactive lines into the 7th generation. If the trait has not come forth until then, the line is declared extinct. I think one of the last families whose blood was weakened enough for that was the Potter line. Three generations ago we finally declared the line lost." A small smile played over Lucius' thin lips. It never failed to amuse him that the one to kill the Dark Lord – one of the most powerful wizards of his time – was someone whose family had grown so weak that it had lost the ability to reap the fruits of their pure blood.

'Who would have thought that the boy would win the war in the end?' Lucius thought somewhat wistfully; had he suspected that highly unlikely possibility he might have reconsidered his allegiances.

He was drawn from his thoughts however, as that insufferable Mediwizard licked over his lips nervously and all but breathed his name almost reverently "Mr. Malfoy…"  
Lucius raised an eyebrow, reconsidering his earlier assessment. Maybe the youth was as stupid as he seemed.

"This _is_ about a Potter, Mr. Malfoy … Harry Potter."

It was a good thing that Lucius was already sitting.  
"I'm sending someone over. For now keep away from him and don't agitate him further –"

* * *

When Lucius Malfoy returned to the parlour, most of the guests had luckily already made their farewells. Thank Merlin that this was not a formal dinner party crowded with untrustworthy cadgers and leeches. These were family members and trusted friends.  
But then again, that might be even worse in the current situation. Some of them were Vykélari dominants themselves, or were in contact with others of their kind. The news of a submissive fledging at that very moment might be disastrous for his plans.

The fledgeling. It was much easier to think of the boy as that, instead of thinking 'Harry Potter' the Brat-With-The-Audacity-To-Live. As always, where that nuisance was concerned, fate was there to taunt him. It would have been so much easier if he had just had the grace to die the first time the Dark Lord came after him… But then again, the Potter line would not have been reactivated. Nevertheless, there were other lost lines. Why by Salazar Slytherin, couldn't it have been someone else?

Well, it couldn't be helped, he guessed, and he would be damned if the boy would strengthen any other family but his own. It was, after all, the first time that Mr. Potter proved to be useful for _something_, Lucius mused with a small smirk, he couldn't take that chance away from him now, could he?

Intently, with a quite pleasant thrill of anticipation in his silver eyes, he scanned the room for another head of hair as pale as his own. There.  
Draco and Blaise stood together with both of their mothers, perfect. He couldn't wait to break the news and it was actually a pity that they had guests because he wouldn't be able to witness their more unguarded, open reactions. Whatever he told them would not shake the masks of indifference on their faces; that perfect emotional control. They were Malfoys, after all, and Zabinis of course. Nevertheless that couldn't be helped as time was of the essence right now. After all, he didn't want the submissive fledgeling to take any actual harm.

All four of them looked up as he strode over to them, a sly smirk on his narrow lips. Once or twice he had to excuse himself as other guests tried to engage him in conversation until he came to stand next to the formidable quartet.

Both Draco and Blaise had an undeniable resemblance to their mothers, even after their inheritance which had left them three inches taller and the muscles on their arms and torso more defined, though still lean. Their features, which had always been finely chiselled, seemed harder now, not quite as delicate, but more exotic with high cheekbones and square jaws, Blaise perhaps a little bit more so than Draco.  
No, the resemblance to their mothers was more due to a certain dangerous, natural elegance and grace in their posture and every movement. They were predators, just like Lucius himself.

A fine son-in-law, and an even finer son (in his opinion). If anyone should get the power-boost of mating a submissive, it was them. Alas, if he wasn't happily married himself… but then he remembered that the submissive in question _was Harry Potter_; and really, the boy couldn't compare to Narcissa's ruthless beauty and her cruel wit that he loved so much. He probably wouldn't be able to suffer that saviour-complex all the time; and that might lead to a massacre. No, Narcissa was perfect for him, he thought, grazing her with his eyes.

Lucius' smirk widened almost unnoticeably as he saw the unvoiced questions behind his wife's piercing eyes, knowing she was too proud to give in and word them. Hmm, but there was no time for teasing now. What a pity.

"I just got very interesting news from St Mungo's… As it seems, a new Vykélari from one of the lost lines has just come into his inheritance."  
Four sets of eyes watched him carefully, trying to gauge him but unable to and that knowledge was almost as good as seeing the unabashed surprise on their faces would they have been without company.

"Which line?" Draco asked, his lips barely moving.

"A submissive." Lucius answered, watching for the brief flash of surprise that he knew he would see in his son's eyes and hiding his smugness as he did.  
"The poor thing is unaware of that fact, not having regained his senses as of yet. He will need to be brought to the Manor, of course. I would ask the two of you to get him, seeing as that is impossible for me."

Draco and Blaise briefly locked gazes. They knew what a mating would entail, of course, and it was obvious that the Malfoy patron intended for them to make the submissive theirs… But the time was extremely inconvenient. Even knowing that a submissive would ultimately allow a deeper bond to form between them and increase their magical power many times over – even though the submissive would ensure maintenance of their family line without having to adopt, did they want to put their engagement under the stress of forcing someone new into their life? Into their _bed_?

They were blessed enough to have escaped an arranged marriage, and be allowed to be with the one they loved. Their relationship had not always been easy, as Blaise and Draco were naturally dominant – not only because of their heritage but they had been coping just fine. Forcing an unwilling third partner into a mating bond might destroy all the peace they had fought for and they were not too keen on the strife that was bound to erupt if they didn't keep a tight leash on the submissive, which was not at all what they wanted.  
Lucius might have enjoyed dominating someone, or using his instincts against him to subdue him, but Draco did not and neither did Blaise. At least not someone meant to be a spouse.

"Who is it?" Blaise asked, his arm coming to rest around Draco's waist in a search for closeness. With the other hand, he brought his glass to his lips, sipping the exquisite wine.

"Harry Potter."

Blaise cursed the Malfoy patriarch' sadistic streak with the little breath he had as he choked on his wine and felt his shock and surprise echoed in the small flinch of his fiancé's shoulders, before he managed to disentangle his arm and cover his mouth as he coughed.

Next to him, Draco leaned forward abruptly and hissed. "We cannot do that… _I_ can't."

"And why is that?" His father asked, one eyebrow raised curiously.

"I owe him a life-debt! I cannot possibly repay that by forcing him to mate!"

"never said anything of the sort, Draco." His father drawled in a pointless, futile attempt of appearing innocent.

Draco merely sneered back "Of course not…"

"The words you always put into my mouth…" Lucius smirked.

"Besides," Narcissa spoke up, her tone soft and complacent, "he owes me one as well."

"Be that as it may," Lucius said, taking over the conversation again, "at the moment he is using up his magic for his transformation and it seems he wasn't as well-rested as a Vykélari fledgeling should be before it started. That and the fact that those imbeciles of healers and Mediwizards have agitated him enough to make his magic turn its focus from the transformation and retaliate, well… he is more weakened than he should be.  
The healers fear he won't survive the night. You can repay your debt by bringing him here: between you and Blaise, you should be able to control and guide his raging magic and keep it from lashing out against everyone else."

"Why don't you bring him here and I organize a portkey to our mansion in Italy?" Amalyne spoke up, her voice deep and calm and almost purring. "You know the uncle of Blaise's father is a healer with some experience on Vykélari."  
Of course he would be, seeing as Blaise's father had been a Vykélari himself; It had been a surprise initially that they wanted to stay in contact after his sudden and very tragic death, but for Blaise's sake, of course, they had.

It would be perfect: a beautiful, large villa with a spacious park, including a large pool and access to the beach; all of which were guarded by a dizzying amount of privacy spells and actually belonged to Blaise as a part of his father's heritage. It was perfect in every way. And after a few days, Amalyne was certain that nature and instincts would do their part to resolve the issue. Such power … it had to belong to her family. Not to mention the improvement in reputation it might entail. The Boy-Who-Lived, forever bound to her family.

It was a sentiment that Lucius and Narcissa obviously shared as they smiled at Amalyne in a way that would make a shark go green with envy.  
"What a wonderful idea!" Narcissa cooed dangerously, her eyes glinting.

"Now, you really should go." Lucius said with a smirk. "I told them to leave the boy alone but still…"

Glaring at his mother and future parents-in-law, Blaise tapped his wine glass with his wand lightly, a bell-like sound filling the room. "May I have your attention for a few moments, please? Thank you. It was a wonderful evening, thank you all for coming and celebrating the news of our engagement with us. Unfortunately, at this very moment, a new Vykélari is unexpectedly fledging without elder supervision and both Draco and I are required to help him through the transition as Lucius' substitutes. We therefore bid you all farewell and a good homeward journey. Again, thank you all for coming and for your gracious gifts."

Just letting Blaise finish his little speech, Draco took his hand and, with a last glare at his parents and Blaise's mother, he tugged his olive-skinned fiancé into the direction of the reception room and the fire-place there, without so much as a glance back at their guests. He was positively seething.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**


	3. Locked In

**CHAPTER 3: Locked-In**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I rewrote large parts of the first two chapters. It didn't change the content, though, I was just unhappy with the way it was written. So if you want to, you are welcome to reread the first two chapters, but you wouldn't miss anything if you didn't.  
And concerning this chapter: I am not intending any Weasley-bashing. But this chapter is mostly written from our two Slytherins' POV and therefore naturally somewhat derogatory in regards to the Weasleys.

* * *

"I can't believe they're making us do this…" Blaise muttered. "A Gryffindor… No, _the_ Gryffindor role model. I mean, honestly!"

"You'd better believe it. Our parents already seem quite intent on making him a part of the family. Though I'm not sure if they realise that no one will ever manage to groom Potter into something even remotely socially acceptable." Draco said, his voice cold and hard in irritation.

Impatiently he pressed again on the button of the elevator that read "Fourth Floor: Spell Damage" in large letters, willing the damn thing to go faster. Snidely he wrinkled his nose.  
"Really. Spell damage? Who in the hell put a _fledgeling_ on the Spell Damage floor? This is _so_ degrading."

Without saying anything, Blaise leaned over to press a soft kiss to Draco's shoulder, still clad in his dark green dress robes. Immediately Draco's posture softened and he in turn laid his cheek against his lover's forehead, rubbing tenderly against the soft skin, returning the affectionate gesture.

"Why must it always be Potter?" Draco murmured somewhat gloomily as Blaise straightened again.

"I thought you didn't hate him any longer…"

"I don't, not really. Doesn't mean I like him, though. Self-centred, do-gooder Gryffindor brat! You should have seen his complacent smirk when he returned my wand to me."

"Hmm… I _did_ see it, Draco. I was there, remember? And to me it looked like that naïve you-were-an-asshole-I-was-an-asshole-and-let's-just-forget-it grin." With the way that Blaise flung out the words, one could think that was even worse in his opinion. It probably was.  
"You know, I don't think he is someone even _capable_ of gloating; more than likely he was just trying his usual saviour-routine or trying to get you to like him like the rest of the world. Probably his next grand endeavour now that he has no Dark Lord to kill."

"Mm-hmm," Draco agreed just as the doors of the elevator opened to show a surprisingly full hallway, considering that it was one o'clock in the morning.

"Ah, and there are his loyal terriers." He continued with a sneer, his eyes travelling over the lot of redheads who all but looked like they had set up their camp on the fourth floor, sitting in various chairs, leaning against each other or sprawling and slouching on their seats. There were only four of them, however: the would-be Mrs. Potter who would now always stay the would-be Mrs. Potter (and really, that aspect of this current debacle almost had him smirk sardonically), whom was currently sleeping on one of the benches standing on the side of the wide hallway. Next to her sat that mudblood Granger rubbing the Weaslette's shoulder in silent comfort, her expression so troubled and tired it would have been painful to watch – if it wasn't a mud-blood, and if it wasn't _Granger_.  
They were framed on Granger's side by the Weasel and on the other side by those nasty, prank-loving twins, all of which had been gazing into empty space with an expression Draco couldn't quite pinpoint but they looked up as the two newcomers entered, and that weird look faded into a mixture of disgust and hate – Draco had never been really sure which of the two emotions might outweigh the other in regards to him, but he guessed it didn't really matter anyway, even less so right now. How ironic that he and Blaise were here to safe Britain's savior, the one and only this group of emotional children were always fussing over so much and all the read-heads did was…

"What are you doing here, Ferret?"

...picking a fight.

"Ron, stop it!" Granger said, obviously tired and frustrated, if the dark circles beneath her eyes were anything to go by. Next to her, the Weaslette stirred, blinking owlishly at the two former Slytherins, before her expression blended smoothly into an unattractive look of irritation.

"I don't think this is any of your business." Blaise said, his chin raised haughtily, taking a somewhat twisted pleasure in the fact that they would be allowed into Potter's hospital room while his friends obviously were not and were probably not even informed about anything going on, either. After all they were not related to their wonder-boy.

"What, Ferret? Need your lover to defend you now?" The Weasel sneered, foolishly ignoring his girlfriend, ogling Draco and Blaise's elegant dress robes, probably in pure envy. "Someone hexed your balls off? Didn't think that you'd miss them, bloody ponce!"

Draco grabbed his fiancé's arm as the olive-skinned man made a step towards the red-heads in a fit of rage.  
"Some other time, Blaise." He said, his voice loud and clear. "You have to understand how frustrating it must be, not getting anyone to share something of importance with but a filthy mud-blood." Even despite the enraged outcry of the three Weasley men who seemed about ready to attack them and the shouts of Granger and Weaslette to let it be, Draco smirked complacently. It was just so amusing that this respective insult never failed from having the desired effect.

Suddenly there was a succession of Silencio's and one by one, the Weasley's lapsed into silence. At the side of the corridor stood a very red, very enraged Mrs. Weasley and equally frowning Mr. Weasley along with a pair of hospital workers, all having their wands drawn.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!" The elder of the two healers exclaimed angrily, stressing every word he spoke. "We are in a hospital! Please keep your family from disturbing the peace and quiet of our patients or I will have to insist you leave."

With that, he lifted the silence spell with a quick movement of his wand and made his way over two the two newcomers who had watched the debacle with blatant satisfaction. All the while the Weasley matriarch began to give her children a truly awe-inspiring tongue-lashing, that much Draco had to concede.

The healer reached over to shake hands first with Blaise and then Draco, the slender fingers dry and wrinkled. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini, thank you for coming. If you'd follow me, please…"

"Gladly, Healer…" Draco said, raising an eyebrow in question while they passed the group of red heads, who were still glaring daggers at them… well, at least the younger generation.

"Cowan, Mr. Malfoy, Andrew Cowan. This is Mediwizard McAuley, who contacted your father." He said, gesturing towards the scrawny young man at his side, with straggly, dirty-blond hair and a somewhat dour expression marring his already not very handsome features.

"I must admit that I am not yet convinced you will be able to help us, as I've been saying his transformation differs certainly from a usual Vykélari transformation…" at that he threw an indignant look at the younger Mediwizard, clearly unimpressed that he had taken such liberties. McAuley's jaw tensed visibly, but he wisely refrained from commenting on his superior's critic.

"Why don't you let us be the judges of that, healer Cowan?" Blaise said as pleasantly as possible but still Draco heard the irritated undertone well enough. He wondered if the healer did. Probably not, he thought, as the man answered with an unconcerned hand wave.

"Yes, of course." The Healer relented and led them down the corridor, along rows of identical white doors until he stopped suddenly.

"Ah, here he is." Cowan laid his hand on the door handle, but he hesitated and didn't press it down; instead he looked back at the two young men with a nervous flicker to his eyes that had the two Slytherins pricking up their ears.  
"We had to restrain him, his wings also. He wouldn't stop beating with them and striking out whenever we tried to get closer and they are already very strong. We couldn't tend to him otherwise…"

Draco narrowed his eyes, wondering why the healer was already trying to justify himself. But he found himself to be mostly surprised at the flaring anger in his chest, anger on Potter's behalf.

He strangled that feeling viciously. Potter was merely a fellow Vykélari, a submissive one, who his instincts dictated him to protect, one who had saved his life, despite of being a pain in the ass otherwise. And that Cowan was wasting their time. That was all.  
But was it only him or had Blaise tensed at his side?

He didn't allow himself to glance over at his fiancé, though, or reach out for him. And though the vindictive voice in his head told him in a rather descriptive way what to do with the healer should he have mistreated a fellow Vykélari, even that Gryffindor prat, he found himself saying "I am sure everything you did was done with the best intentions. Now let us see what we can do for Mr. Potter, shall we?"

Inclining his head, his lips drawn into a thin, tense line, healer Cowan pushed the door open and entered, closely followed by the Mediwizard and then both Blaise and Draco.

Potter lay in the middle of the large room on his stomach, his upper body bare and shivering, and from his back, two enormous wings towered up over him. They shone like glittering emeralds in the brightly illuminated room, their feathers of varying shades of rich dark green that reflected the light just like the feathers of some birds do.  
Where they had broken through his skin, dry blood was clinging to the soft green downs and contrasting darkly against his pale skin.

Both of them were tightly bound together, forcing them stiffly behind Potter's back into an unnatural angle that must have been uncomfortable at first and then become rather painful with the passing of the hours. They were bent at the carpus so that they would not press against the ceiling and reached behind him up to the very end of the room, touching the wall nevertheless. Even the very tips of the huge wings were tightly bound together; fluttering agitatedly in an effort to break free that must have been exhausting.  
Draco and Blaise both knew very well how tiring it was at first to use the new, untrained muscles. But Potter was still fighting on for who knew how long, just like the Gryffindor he was, never caving in or giving up, despite how hopeless his battles were proving to be.

"Merlin!" Blaise whispered beside him and Draco could only share that sentiment.

Potter's legs and his arms were fixated to the bed with sturdy, thick leather straps. Where he had fought against them the hardest – at his ankles and his wrists – they had chafed the skin to an angry red, making Draco's blood boil in rage: Vykélari had very sensitive tactile senses that Potter must have already regained at this point of the transformation; the high sensibility meaning a high density of nerves in the region and that meant that superficial injuries hurt like hell. A healer should know that, and they seemed untreated as of yet!

It was the small chirping sounds the young man made, however, that was the final straw for both Draco and Blaise. It was no elaborate song, only disjointed, single notes that came instinctively to every Vykélari to use as a warning signal for others of their kind, saying 'Danger, don't come here!' to everyone who cared to listen.  
Not even when frightened and hurting like he was now was he calling for help, he was trying to keep others from falling into the trap he thought himself to be in. 'Foolish Gryffindor', Draco shook his head.

"Get out immediately!" he hissed, appalled for no reason he could think of, looking back and piercing both the old healer and the much younger Mediwizard with a fiery, hateful glance that promised pain and torture. He didn't care _why_ he cared at the moment. He just did. And the sight of a creature meant for free, unbridled night flights, struggling with his bonds in fear and agony had made him furious beyond any sane thought.

"I don't think so, no." Cowan sniffed, unaware of what he was facing right then. "I will certainly not leave you alone with my patient."

A second later, Draco stood right in front of the other man, his silver eyes flashing and his teeth bared, lower and upper incisors unnaturally long and sharp. "Out!"  
The man stumbled backwards.

"Mr. Malfoy!" He squeaked, eyes wide and fearful. "I have to call the security if you…"

"Please do!" The Malfoy heir snarled, backing the other two men towards the door as he advanced predatorily on them. "But if you do, I promise I will take you to court for this and I will sue you for compensation so high that St Mungo's will be ruined along with you once I'm finished! Do I make myself clear?"  
He didn't wait for an answer, just grabbed the door and slammed it shut. The last thing he saw of the pair was how McAuley grasped the shoulders of healer Cowan and pulled him backwards to evade the wooden door. What a pity, he would have enjoyed the sound of Cowan's breaking nose.

After hastily casting a locking charm, Draco turned around to see Blaise already standing next to Potter, one hand hovering over a lean, naked shoulder, not yet touching, only letting the spooked Gryffindor feel his magic, the magical signature of another Vykélari that would sooth him somewhat.

Slowly, still shivering with rage, Draco made his way over. "We have to cut him loose."

"He really is one." Blaise whispered, his voice sounding strangely strangled.  
"I didn't believe it. But he … he _feels_ like one."

Draco knew what his fiancé meant. Like a siren's song, that body called out to him as Potter's magic instinctively reached out to call adult Vykélari to his side, to ground him, help him during the transition. The powerful waves of magic were ebbing away somewhat now that Blaise was letting him know he was close.  
But still his body pulled him closer, almost magnetically, all pale, smooth, luxurious skin; the beautiful, colourful wings that screamed seductively of power and strength. The markings on his face were … nothing less than beautiful: a ribbon of a pale, unnamed colour covered his eyes and the ridge of his nose, ending just above his cheekbones on the lower side and just above his eyebrows on the upper side, softly blending into his unblemished skin. A human would not see it, Draco knew, because it was of a light ultraviolet that only those species with an additional photoreceptor or a shifted spectral range would see. Like birds … or Vykélari.

He himself and Blaise didn't have a mask like this one, but he found it beautiful and he instinctively knew that anyone with such bright markings would be a strong, desirable mate. Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco tried to fight down his sudden arousal, breathing deeply. God, that was so not the time for that...  
Now he knew why Blaise was standing _behind_ Potter, to be able to evade that temptation... that bastard.

Once he felt calm enough, Draco opened his eyes again, taking in the deep emerald lines that drew an intricate pattern over the pale eye area, vanishing into the black hairline.  
Draco had to shake his head dazedly. The raven-black, silky texture of his tousled hair was further upset by deep green feathers that stuck out almost in random directions but generally backwards. Even in this form, the prat managed to have an untameable head of hair. It was unbelievable. But oddly enough it looked quite … just somehow in that very … not really weird but still incomprehensible … way … well, cute.

Draco blinked in disgust at himself but still couldn't help but let his eyes roam freely over the half-naked form laid out in front of him, taking in the lines drawn in the same emerald colour as the markings on his face that trailed over his naked, pale sides in elegant, arcing curves; starting above his ribcage and running down his sides, along his slender waist, crossing themselves playfully to vanish … somewhere beneath the waistband of horribly washed-out jeans that he really shouldn't think about.

At that very moment, Draco was half-relieved, half-disappointed that Potter was still partly dressed, but he _did_ curse that healer for binding Potter's arms to his side and covering up most of those gorgeous markings.

"Oh God…" He groaned as silently as he was able to. Had that thought really come from his own mind?

Forcing himself to concentrate on the panicked, agonized look in those unseeing, teary emerald-green eyes and the small chirps Potter still continued to make, probably not even aware of it, Draco calmed. A bucket of ice water could not be as effective as the sounds of a frightened, hurting submissive.

"Help me cut away the bindings on his wings." He said, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded.

Luckily, Blaise didn't comment on it and from the way he panted heavily, Draco thought that his fiancé might be fighting with similar problems himself.

A few slashes of their wands later, the leather bindings fell to the floor. For a second those emerald wings fluttered helplessly in mid-air, before collapsing feebly in a heap sideways to the ground, a startled and pained outcry leaving the dark haired boy's lips and Draco and Blaise both winced and looked at each other guiltily. They hadn't thought about how painfully cramped up Potter's wing muscles had to be after hours of having them bound in a very uncomfortable position.

"Sorry." Blaise muttered uselessly as Potter was still unable to hear him, and laid his much darker hands on the pale back between the twitching wings, gently rubbing the sore muscles there.

Immediately the former Gryffindor startled and strained against his bonds in rising panic at the unexpected touch; his wings rose, beating mindlessly around him, hitting against the ceiling and the walls. Both Blaise and Draco barely managed to dodge the strong appendages, jumping back from Potter's side to come to stand in front of him, at the headboard, where the emerald wings couldn't reach them.  
But the uncoordinated movements unbalanced the lightweight hospital bed to which Potter was still tied and almost immediately it started to tip over.

Cursing, Draco reached out with both hands to stabilize the bedstead while Blaise pressed forwards again, grasping one of the slim shoulders, and let his own magic touch the panicked creature in front of him once again, letting him know he was kindred.

That seemed to shock Potter into immobility quite effectively: his wings froze in mid-air, fluttering for some seconds before they fell to the ground, all strength drained from them.  
Draco sighed in relief and let go of the bed frame, lying one of his hands on Potter's cheek. Softly he let one finger trace the lower trim of that pale mask, letting sparks of his magic travel into the tear stained skin.

It only lasted for a few seconds, however, as Potter the prat started to strain against his bonds again half-heartedly and insisted on making those damned warning noises that made both Blaise and Draco feel uncomfortably chilled. Did the fool really want them to _flee_? Really, Gryffindor logic was so … unnatural. What happened to the good old survival instincts that made people accept help in desperate situations, not send their saviours away? Such so-called nobility was just plain stupid!  
And damn it, that sound sent shivers down Draco's spine…

"Will you shut it already!?" He exclaimed tartly, angered that his own very well-performing instincts made him react like this and embarrassed that he had let himself get carried away so far as to bestow affectionate gestures on his school enemy. And the worst was that Blaise's dark, warm eyes watched him with that damned understanding stare that pierced him right through.

"He can't hear you, Dragon." And then he curled his lips into that amused half-smile that Draco loved so much and damn, it, did he hate him sometimes.

"I know!" he hissed "But it's driving me mad!"

And Blaise, the loveable bastard, only chuckled at him.  
"Why don't you cut away those ties and I direct his magic to restructure his sense of hearing, so that we can tell him to stop it, hmm?"

"You're quite the bastard, you know that, don't you?"

"Actually, my parents were married," Blaise amended contemplatively while he moved to stand near Potter's head. "But even if I were, I'd be all yours, and you, Draco, have agreed to be all mine just last week." And with that he gripped his lover's neck and pulled him close for a searing, deep kiss, his other hand still resting on a blissfully oblivious Potter's shoulder, directing sparks of magic into it while pouring all the pent-up desperate hunger into the kiss.

It was Draco who broke away after some moments however, panting against the other's lips. "That is what we agreed upon, isn't it?" He whispered. "What happens to that now?"

"No one can force us, Draco! We will take him to Italy and grant him protection from other Vykélari until he has some control over his new powers and that is that. We'll see what happens from there. The only thing I envision with absolute certainty in my future is you, Draco. Everyone else is second."

"Everyone else." Draco repeated in a promise of his own, basking in the certainty that whatever happened, he would have Blaise at his side to deal with it, and Blaise would have him.

Then he stepped away and raised his wand to cut away those offending leather straps, his slender fingers gently pressing down on the limps he was freeing whenever Potter tried to move them, indicating him to stay silent, or else, of that he was sure, the beautiful idiot would manage to hurt himself further.

* * *

Blaise watched for a moment as Draco busied himself with Potter's constrains and felt the young man freeze with surprise beneath his fingers. Really, had Potter still not realised that someone was there to help him?

But he should probably not judge him for that, these were somewhat extraordinary circumstances right now and Potter had only his tactile sense to guide him. He remembered that phase of his own transformation well, how irritating he had found it; but he had known what was happening with him and hadn't been afraid. The Wizarding World's saviour was probably entitled to some irrational fear and doubt at the moment.

Putting his idle contemplation of their somewhat trying situation aside for the moment, Blaise gently directed the Vykélari's head into a straight line with his spine, which Potter allowed after his momentary resistance was soothed with another touch of Blaise's magic. It was unfortunate that this position hid that beautiful mask of Potter's, he thought with a deprecating frown, but he needed easy access to both of Potter's ears.

For a moment, he let his hands stroke through that silky thatch of dark emerald feathers and black hair, fascinated at how soft it was. He chuckled lowly in amusement, though, as Potter immediately tried to dislodge his hands skittishly and he cupped his ears instead to keep his head in position.  
"Hush, Potter." He murmured, not caring that Potter would never know. "You want to hear again, don't you?"

With that he closed his eyes, feeling out the currents of Potter's magic, pulling them closer to gather right beneath his hands. It was a heady feeling, downright addictive, all that power pulsing beneath his fingertips, waiting to be controlled.  
A deceptive delusion, he knew that. A Vykélari's magic tended to be self-willed almost, like a second sub consciousness, or maybe it was the Vykélari's sub consciousness that took control of his magic once in a while – who knew? The only thing that mattered was that it would lash out if it thought its owner to be in danger, it would defend him viciously, and it would defend itself if someone tried to take control over it.

But it would allow him to guide it during the transformation and should Potter ever mate – not that he would have a say in the matter anyway – his mates would have a much easier time trying to tame that power.

He couldn't say how much that thought displeased him.

"Shit!" he muttered, having momentarily lost his concentration and with it his hold over Potter's magic. Draco looked up at him in his unique, intense way, so full of intimate knowledge he held on Blaise, but never over him.

Well, almost never. Never outside of Draco's usual teasing would probably be more exact.  
"Need some help?" the blonde smirked as he sliced away at last the bindings on Potter's wrist and took them in his slender hands, careful to avoid the sore regions, to help the younger man into a sitting position. The former Gryffindor clutched at Draco's hands, clinging to him as if he was his lifeline.  
"Blaise, his hearing if you'd please…"

"His magic is not nearly as exhausted as they made it out to be." Blaise said somewhat defensively, coming to stand behind Potter, between those emerald wings. Again, he took the pale face between his hands again, resuming his guidance on Potter's magic. The younger man finally seemed to have accepted their presence as none-threatening and didn't fight against Blaise's hold, not even when Draco sneaked his arms around his torso tightly, trapping Potter's arms between them.

"Okay, now, Blaise!"

And Blaise gave Potter's wayward magic something to do, telling it to take his own auditory senses as a model to reform those of its owner. He felt that wave of power flood him like a tsunami, invading him inexorably and he wondered if his cousin who had guided his own transformation had felt like that: stripped bare before the magic of the young fledgeling that was _Potter_ for Merlin's sake! It was a strangely intimate feeling that he really wasn't comfortable with.

Thankfully, it lasted for only a moment, before Potter's magic drew back into his body, beginning its complicated task. Then, as his auditory nerve began to reform, re-innervating his new sensors – a process that was not really painful, but _itched_– Potter began to struggle again, causing both Blaise and Draco to tighten their hold on him and not even the soothing sparkles of Draco's magic managed to quiet him as he moaned in discomfort.

Minutes the three of them stayed like that until finally Potter went rigid in Draco's arms, his unseeing eyes blinking in wonder. Then Draco watched those hated rose-petal lips open and letting escape a single chirp that seemed like it was about to erupt into a complex series of trills and high notes but was cut short when Potter shut his mouth, startled and shocked at the sound of his own voice.  
"Yes, Potter." Draco drawled. "Greet your syrinx."

And just when Draco had finished his sentence, Potter broke free with another high-pitched tone, his eyes still wide and blind, and the back of his flaying hand connected with Draco's jaw with an impressive thud.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Just as an explanation: the _syrinx_ is the vocal organ of birds. The actual sound is not produced by vocal cords as it is the case for mammals, but by the vibrations of the walls of the syrinx, the membrane tympaniformis. Its structure and position enable some birds to mimic human speech and/or produce more than one sound at a time … pretty impressive.

Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated! Also, since this story is not yet written, I am not opposed to taking requests for anything you wish and if I like the idea and if it fits in well with my own, I'll include it.


	4. With New Eyes

**CHAPTER 4: With New Eyes**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thanks to all who read and especially to all those who reviewed!  
I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter!

* * *

"Ouch! Potter!" Draco cursed, rubbing his sore jaw while his attacker scrambled backwards, or at least tried to: unused to the added weight on his back and still blind, he almost lost his footing and toppled backwards but he managed to catch himself just in time; courtesy of the added organ of equilibrium in his hip. Sometimes Draco hated nature, especially when it worked for his enemy and against him...

Irritated, he watched as his school-nemesis came to a halt in front of them with slightly spread wings, uncertainly but silently standing there, probably trying to pick out where the other two men were from sound alone. 'As if he would be able to fend us off right now even if he knew where we are' Draco thought.

"Brilliant, Draco! Very helpful!" Blaise hissed in annoyance, making Potter flinch and retreat further backwards. And just as if that was also Draco's fault, Blaise glared at his fiancé somewhat fiercely and rolled his eyes as Draco cocked his head and answered with an indignant "What!? He hit me!"

Potter squared his shoulders and screeched at them, outraged at the accusation, the cry sounding very much like that of a furious eagle and nothing like the sweet songbird trills that had escaped him earlier. His lips moved as if to form a litany of swearwords while his hands flew to the pockets of his jeans, frantically searching for his wand that was not there, only managing to tear the worn fabric with his long talons and he hissed as he accidentally cut himself open. Blood seeped out from the hidden wounds, staining the blue jeans.

Immediately Blaise was in front of him, grasping both of his wrists in a bruising grip.  
"Stop that, idiot!" he hissed as the former Gryffindor began to struggle, pulling with angry determination to free his wrists, putting his whole weight behind it now that he thought to know his enemies' identity.  
Still, Blaise with his taller and more muscular build was more than capable to handle the smaller Vykélari submissive and he held tight for a few moments, before releasing his hold quite abruptly. With a look of utter surprise on his expressive face, Potter stumbled backwards and fell against the wall with a pained expression as his wings were twisted beneath him. Disoriented and struggling for air, he didn't put up much of a fight until it was practically too late and Draco and Blaise had pushed forwards and pressed him against the rough wallpaper of the hospital room, using their weight to immobilize the emerald, shimmering appendages as best as they could while holding Potter's forearms in a tight grip against the wall, rendering the poisonous talons useless.

"Potter, you nitwit, stay still!" Draco growled dangerously against the younger man's ear, his free hand wandering to the other's waistband, pushing it down a bit, hoping to not see the clear, yellowish liquid that would mean Potter had managed to poison himself.

Merlin, it had been so long since a Vykélari submissive had come into his inheritance, he simply didn't know if there was a natural antidote and if not, how to treat it…

* * *

Harry blinked for a moment, too stunned to really move. Was his school nemesis really trying to get into his pants!?

It didn't take long after the thought formed in his mind that he started to struggle in earnest. He couldn't believe it: Malfoy had cursed him, kidnapped and tortured him and now he molested him? Was there no limit to that bastard's depravity? And he had witnessed for him, for god's sake!

He screeched once more in a fit of rage, unable to throw his attackers off, but damn it, Harry had never been brought down by a Malfoy, and that was a fine tradition he didn't intend on breaking with now! It would have been easier though had he been able to goad the prat with words or even see the damn blonde…  
Still, this was just so not going to happen, whatever he had to do!

Whipping his head to the side from where he had heard Malfoy's voice, he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of the hand that had closed around his wrist with all his might. Immediately the sickeningly metallic tang of blood exploded in his mouth just as Malfoy started to curse and rant and growl next to him.

But before he could force the blonde prick to let go of his hand, someone grabbed his neck painfully tight and Harry felt the threat of something razor sharp against the skin of his throat and he froze, not daring to move for fear of being gutted.

"Let go!" The other man in the room hissed and he sounded so damn forceful and strong-willed; not at all like someone who was bribed into a friendship with the Malfoy heir like his usual cronies, defending him for solely egoistic purposes. No, that man – whoever it was, because Harry had only recognized Malfoy's telltale sneer – he did it out of a determination that was fed by honest and deep feelings, maybe even love. Harry didn't dare to disobey or to try something more extreme, not willing to find out what the other was prepared to do.  
Malfoy immediately snatched his hand away and Harry could hear him cast a healing charm, which was unfortunate as Harry had been sure he had gotten Malfoy's wand-arm and that his captor might at least be somewhat incapacitated by that injury. Obviously not.

Harry held his breath, trying not to move and after a moment that cruel sharp something was taken away, replaced with soft fingertips that rewarded his obedience with the now almost familiar magical touch that had soothed him multiple times during the last minutes. And really, Harry didn't want to react to it, but it made the skin on his neck tingle pleasantly and something inside of him stirred and purred, welcoming that unknown power and merging with eagerly.

"Sshh, that's it, Potter. We won't hurt you." The man whispered against his ear and involuntarily, Harry felt his muscles relax. Unbidden words rushed through his mind, telling him that Malfoy and the other could not be the same ones who had caused him so much pain earlier, they had come afterwards, they had freed him and whatever they had done, they had given him back his hearing. He needn't fear them, needn't fight them. They would help him.  
He was not really sure if that realisation was his own or another's, planted into his mind, but it didn't seem to matter as Harry was lulled by that comforting, protective power that seemed to have thrown a veil of sorts over him, weighting down on his limbs and fogging his mind. Suddenly his body seemed aware of the long hours he had been awake now, of how exhausted he was both physically and emotionally and in need of help; and he felt tired and calm and so very sleepy and strangely enough: safe.

Until another thought invaded his mind unbidden: if that comforting magic had come from Malfoy and that other man it meant that yes, they had been around him while he was bound, and yes they had cut away whatever had held him down _but_ they had _touched_ him throughout the procedure! Stroked his limbs and … had one of them really run his fingers through his hair? Malfoy? And Malfoy had tried to get into his pants!

He shuddered and began his struggles anew, weakly at first and nowhere near as desperate or as panicked as before, but still: he'd be damned if he let them molest him just like that!  
Slowly he fought himself through the heavy grogginess that had filled him so completely, allowing him to think clearer and to recognize the way his feelings and thoughts had been tampered with just a moment ago. Anger rose in him; he _hated_ the kind of mind-games Malfoy was trying to play with him…  
He fought harder, wanting nothing more than to get away.

"Potter, stop it!" Malfoy growled and the grip on his wrists tightened. "We need to check if you managed to poison yourself with your talons!"

Harry froze. _TALONS_!? What the hell was the git talking about?  
Carefully Harry bent his fingers towards the heel of his hand until something sharp and thin like a needle touched his skin. Oh, god, Malfoy was right… he had claws!

He gasped, or at least thought he did, but only a small chirp escaped his mouth, making him flinch and a terrible idea struck him: someone must have transfigured him! Maybe one of Voldemort's former supporters wanting to take revenge... maybe he had been given a potion without noticing it and now he was becoming a monster!

"There is not much skin and flesh over the bone at this position. Even if you're not poisoned, we need to see how deep the wound is." That other man said, his voice deep and calm and Harry felt himself nodding, still busy trying to digest his newfound realisation. He had to get to Headmistress McGonagall; if there was someone skilled enough in transfigurations to change him back, it had to be his former transfiguration teacher. Surely, she would know what to do.  
He only needed to get away from his current companions … or captors? Which lead him to the question: why the hell were they here in the first place?

"Good." The man murmured, and Harry could almost feel the smirk in his voice and he wanted nothing more than to disagree: if he should have described his current situation, 'good' would probably be the last word coming to his mind…  
"Draco will have a look at those wounds now. I trust you won't hit, bite or scratch him anymore?"

Oh right, he had bitten Malfoy… of all the things he could have done he had _bitten_ him? He honestly didn't really know what had come over him.  
Harry shook his head, trying to look nonchalant, but quite sure that he wasn't succeeding with his face heating up like this. Well, biting _had_ seemed to be a good idea at the time, and he couldn't really regret it either; his possibilities had been sadly limited…

The grip on his forearms loosened and he was being led forwards a bit, away from the wall so that whatever was sprouting out of his back wasn't cramped up anymore. Harry almost sighed in relief, he would have, too, had not slender fingers at that very moment started to push down his jeans once more; only on the right side of his hip and just enough to bare the angry scratches he had inflicted upon himself, but still he felt even more uncomfortable than he had at the beginning of the second task in the tri-wizard tournament as he had stood in front of the whole school in his wet clothing, being laughed and stared at; then at least Harry had been sure that most eyes would be on Fleur and Cedric who in his opinion had cut much more of a fine figure than he could ever have. True, that had made him quite self-conscious but still…  
What had he been thinking about? Oh, god, yes … touching: this was Malfoy, and he was _touching_ him in a not so appropriate way! The tips of those slender fingers ghosted over his hip-bone and Harry honestly didn't know what to think of the weird tingling sensation they left behind.

"Your magic seems to deal quite well on its own: it already healed the cuts…"  
Harry couldn't follow past the first two words and forgetting everything else for that moment, he reached down to lay his hands on Malfoy's, careful not to scratch him. The hand that inspected his wounds stilled and Harry moved his face so that he thought he might have been looking at Malfoy, wishing he could see him, see what he saw…

"What?" the prat asked and Harry could only answer with a quiet half-sob-half-trill.

His magic.

Draco had said his magic was there. It was not gone, it was there, working for him… but… why then couldn't he access it?

"Potter?" Malfoy asked again but Harry shook his head, removed the blonde's hand from his hip and awkwardly pulled his trousers up again, hating the fact that he was unable to answer, to ask questions of his own and to tell the idiot to _stop touching him!_

"Okay, fine. Listen, Potter…" Draco snarled.

"Draco." The other man cut in, his tone warning the blonde to be silent, before he addressed the former Gryffindor. "Potter, do you want to lie down again?"

Lying down on his stomach with two molesting Slytherins in the same room? Harry shook his head, tapping his forehead at the speaker with an incredulous expression.

"Right," the man snorted "well, then… let me… just stay still for a moment… Draco, help me…" A second later two pairs of hands took hold of the appendages on his back, moving and folding them until Harry felt a feathery blanket laying itself around his shoulders and he was able to straighten up without problems, the added weight on his back more evenly distributed around his body axis.  
He absolutely refused to acknowledge what those feathers seemed to imply.

"That should be more comfortable. I remember that I found it difficult at the beginning to keep my balance if I kept my wings unfolded." Oh Merlin, Harry thought, blanching, it was true: he had wings! And that third man spoke as if it was just natural and furthermore as if it was _permanent_… Harry really felt like crying, or better yet: screaming.

"Blaise, we really should proceed. We have three and a half hours until the moon sets."

Harry huffed in frustration, upset that he didn't understand what was going on, and unbeknownst to him, the feathers in his hair raised with his discomfort, letting him appear slightly taller than he actually was and making Draco and Blaise smirk at each other in amusement. It was so easy to read someone who was unaware of his body language.

"You are currently receiving your inheritance, Potter. Do you know what that means?" Draco asked, the smile in his voice still apparent; but he made it a rhetoric question, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "Of course not. The male Potter line carries a set of genes encoding different characteristics of a magical creature, a Vykélari to be more specific. Unfortunately your ancestors were not powerful enough to even potentially survive the transformation, so the gene expression was suppressed. Be that as it may, it seems _you_ are powerful enough and are currently going through your first transformation. Could you follow me so far?"

Harry nodded, dazedly, but inwardly he felt as if his world had been changed into a sphere of millimetre-thin glass that was cracked by his many questions: would he regain control over his magic, would he ever see again? How would he look like? He didn't really care about the latter but still he didn't want to be stared at any more and he didn't know how Ginny would react…  
Only one false answer to any of these questions might shatter it all. And that made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable.

"When the full moon rose this evening, your magic drew back from your control, so you wouldn't exhaust it, and shattered all those senses that would need to be rebuilt. Now it is basically learning how your new sensory organs should look like, it feels them out so you will be able to transform subconsciously without even thinking about what exactly your magic should do. It has already started to do that, didn't it? You probably can taste and smell again, though not really much better than before and you should have a very good sense of balance right now and your tactile sense should be rather sensitive."

Harry nodded a little bit more confidently. What Malfoy had told him so far sounded rather reassuring, as if everything he had lost would return in some way or another, and his words implied that he might be able to transform back … and who would have thought that Malfoy could explain so well without sounding too haughty?

"But your hearing and vision are rather different and your magic needs help to find out what exactly it is supposed to do…"

"I had it use my own aural sense as a model." The other – Blaise, Harry remembered – continued. Wasn't Blaise Zabini one of Malfoy's more silent, more intelligent cronies during school? He would have to ask Ginny…

"We will have to do the same with your vision. After that, your magic will close itself off and expand your magical core. For this purpose, it will exhaust itself. You will fall unconscious and suffer from magical exhaustion for a few days. That is absolutely normal. When you awake and your magic has replenished itself, you will be able to transform back into your human body. Got that?"

Harry nodded again, his breathing a little bit fast but still he felt much better. He would be able to transform back. Everything was only a terminable change.  
Now he at least knew what was happening – if those two Slytherins weren't lying to him, which was rather unlikely seeing as Malfoy owed him a life debt. Ron had always said that purebloods took life debts quite seriously. That was probably the reason why they were helping him now: they were paying off Malfoy's debt.  
It was a logical explanation, one he could hold on to. Now he only needed to endure whatever the next hours held for him; only three and a half hours, Malfoy had said. Nothing he couldn't take and then he would go back to the Weasleys and together with Ron and Hermione he would learn to live with whatever this so-called inheritance might entail.

Determined, Harry reached out into the direction where he had heard Blaise's voice coming from, feeling for him. His wrist was grasped though, before he had encountered anything but thin air.  
"Careful, Potter! You don't want to injure anyone with those talons now, do you?"

Harry shook his head but gestured towards his eyes with is free hand. God, not being able to speak was so frustrating… fortunately the other two men seemed to have understood what he wanted: One of them came to stand behind him again, laid one hand on his forehead and guided his head backwards until it rested on a hard, muscular shoulder. Harry frowned for a moment, becoming aware that he must be at least a few inches smaller.  
Then the slender hands wound around his chest and grasped his wrists, crossing them in front of him, holding them tightly. Licking over his lips nervously, Harry wondered if he should allow himself to be restrained that way but he reminded himself that they had done it before when giving him back his hearing and it had proven to be a good decision: he would have tried to pry his head free of Blaise's hands otherwise and stop that maddening itching. He might have severely injured himself with his talons. And still there was the reassuring matter of the life-debt between them.  
So he allowed it, but he tensed nonetheless, especially when feeling the silken material of the other's robes against his bare back.

"Relax!" Draco whispered against his skin, his breath tickling the skin on Harry's throat, as his head was still lying on the blonde's shoulder, and Draco's voice sounded strangely deep and breathless, making Harry shiver.  
"And try to keep as still as possible" And Draco smirked, he must be smirking, Harry thought, and they must have noticed that Draco's closeness and the way the blonde's body had folded around his naked torso made his skin crawl, not in an entirely negative way. And gods, it was all so much more intense because he couldn't see a damn thing!

Then cool fingers touched his eye-lids, making them flutter close in reaction and once again that warm feeling of familiarity spread into his body. That pulsating, powerful something that he now guessed must be his magic – if Malfoy's explanations were anything to go by – reacted immediately, rushing out of his body, following the gradient of Blaise's own magic into the other man, leaving Harry feeling empty and weak and he would have slumped down if not for Draco's hold on him.  
But the feeling of vulnerability was easier to bear now that he knew what was happening and who was there with him, even if he would never have thought of them as allies.

Then suddenly power flooded him again, dancing along his skin for a moment before penetrating it, invading him, rushing along his bone structure upwards, along his spine, into the back of his skull and he gasped, or rather chirped again at the strange, tingling sensation. It flew along his cheekbones, vanishing into the eyeballs. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.  
For a moment, nothing happened and only Harry's rapid panting permeated the cool air in the hospital room, before Harry reared up, pressing back against Malfoy's chest, gritting his teeth against the unbearable itching in the back of his eyes where his magic re-grew his retina.  
The transformation be damned, he needed it to stop before he lost his mind! He writhed and squirmed in Malfoy's arms, trying to free his hands and tear and scratch until it stopped itching! An eagle-scream tore from his lips, gaining in volume and pitching until he didn't have any more air.  
After some minutes, as suddenly as it had come the feeling subsided a bit as his magic drew back into his skull, forming the optic nerve in its wake. Harry swallowed, his throat dry, too exhausted to really feel any relief.

"Open your eyes, Harry." Draco whispered into his ear and Harry complied, not even realising that the Slytherin had called him by his surname. His eyelids felt heavy as they fluttered open and he frowned: everything was white, one single surface without any structure or pattern to it. Had something gone wrong?

He chirped questioningly, a little bit insecure. In front of him, Blaise grasped his shoulders to steady him, while Draco released his hold and moved around him. "You'll love this…" the blonde said, no malice or mocking in his voice.

And then colour exploded in his field of vision, the area parting into a rough mosaic of white background with two green figures in front of him, the image refining itself more and more, gaining in detail and three-dimensionality and after endless hours of darkness it was breath-taking and wonderful and he felt tears gathering in his eyes, spilling over and running down his cheeks.

Now he could make out Malfoy's pale skin and hair and it seemed to _shine_ in a colour he had no name for and he saw the black, short hair and olive skin of Zabini that, too, was just more in colour than he could ever have imagined, streaked with various shades of that unnameable hue.

More and more details appeared, and Harry stared and stared, unable to look away as the dark shadows in the eye areas formed into elaborate, half-translucent masks covering the brows and cheekbones; pale white gold crowning Malfoy's silver eyes and dark bronze lining Zabini's pools of onyx. Both masks were decorated with swirls of lighter or darker shades; Harry had never seen anything like this.

"Do you like what you see, Potter?" Zabini asked, sounding dead serious despite his teasing smile.

Harry knew he must look like a complete idiot, staring open-mouthed at the two Slytherins like that, but damn it, they were so freaking handsome and _strong_ with those markings… powerful; and should he even be thinking things like that?  
He flushed, lowering his gaze only to feel his chin lifted by Zabini's gentle, bronzed fingers. "Quite alright, Potter…"

Harry narrowed his eyes. Enough was enough. After all, he had been through that night he certainly didn't need to take their taunting. God, if he could only talk back!  
He lifted his clawed hand to slap away Blaise's hand but he never made it for at that moment Harry crumpled and he would have fallen had not Draco – or was it Zabini – caught him and lowered him to the ground carefully.

"Watch it! It's alright, remember? Your magical core will now expand itself."

Harry honestly didn't believe one moment that that was what was happening to him. He had felt magical exhaustion before and god, this felt as if he was casting a very powerful curse that bled his magic dry… he tried to convey his doubts, shaking his head.  
"Sshh." One of them said and fingers stroked through his hair again. Then everything went black for the second time that night.

* * *

Draco grinned at his fiancé "You really are a bastard, Blaise! Teasing him seconds before you knew the last stage of his transformation started."

"That's why you love me so much. Besides it was only fair after he teased us the whole time with that body just screaming 'mark me'."

Thoughtfully, Draco observed Blaise. "You didn't change your mind, now, did you? Because biting and hitting me did nothing to endear him to me…"

Blaise chuckled, smiling at his pale-eyed lover and shook his head. "No, I'd always choose you, Dragon if it came to that point. Though I have to admit he is pretty fetching, the transformation did wonders for his appearance. And as for your other objections: You know you would find him utterly, soul-destroyingly boring if he wasn't behaving like a Hippogriff towards you all the time."

For a moment, there was silence between them until Draco gave a conceding shrug. What could he say? Blaise was after all right…  
"Now let us have that imbecile of a healer clear the hallway of Weasels and take Potter back to the manor. I really don't fancy explaining to them why and where we are taking their saviour."  
With a wry grin, he bowed over the unconscious form of his former school-nemesis and whispered "When next you wake, Potter, you'll be joining us for a nice little holiday in Italy…"  
He still didn't know how he felt about that.

"We will have a hell of a job trying to keep him there, you realise that?" Blaise said as he bowed down to pick up Potter's unconscious form.

"Yeah, I know…" Draco conceded, standing up and moving towards the door to inform that Cowan. "But whatever happens and wherever he'll go, in the end we'll always be the first he's ever seen with his new eyes, before even seeing himself… he'll never forget that." And with those smug words and a smirk on his lips, Draco left.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Soooo … please tell me what you think! If you sign your reviews, I'll be sure to answer!  
And: The next chapter might take me some time: I have an exam in a week and I need to learn, so please be patient!


	5. Lanai Manor

**CHAPTER 5: Lanai Manor**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Hey, thanks for the wonderful reviews and for your patience! My exam went just fine, by the way, and I'd like to thank all those who wished me luck!

Now: I was asked to explain a little bit about the bird-like features of Vykélari. I'm sorry I didn't do that in detail before, but I guess I just didn't really notice anything was unclear. That's what people generally call a one-track specialist. I know how annoying that can be and I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to do that…

1. A Vykélari's sense of smell and sense of taste are not much better than that of a human (I didn't want to downgrade them even though those senses are generally thought to be of minor importance for birds. It's not even proven yet that all birds can smell and taste).

2. Vykélari, like birds, have a highly developed sense of hearing with an amazing temporal solution, which allows them to locate things by sound.

3. The visual acuity of a Vykélari is many times better than that of a human. Furthermore, they are tetrachromats, meaning that they are able to distinguish 4 different colours: red, green, blue and ultraviolet.

4. Instead of a larynx with its vocal cords (like mammals), Vykélari have a syrinx as a voice box. That is essentially a bony structure that is unique to birds. In song birds the syrinx is located at the lower end of the windpipe which actually enables them to produce two sounds at once.

5. Just like birds who are able to see ultraviolet Vykélari use that in the selection of a possible mate: the brightness of their ultraviolet markings corresponds directly to their bodily fitness. The brighter the marking the more attractive.

6. Like song birds, Vykélari inherit a crude map of some songs that they know from birth on. They learn to refine those songs by listening to adults. That is why Harry instinctively knew how to emit an alarm call.

7. Vykélari, like birds have an additional sense of balance located in the hip, helping them to keep their footing even in the most difficult situations.

Okay, now to the next chapter, enjoy!

* * *

Disoriented and still drowsy with sleep, Harry let his eyes flutter open and blinked against the bright sunlight falling directly on his face. With a tormented groan he squeezed them shut again and turned his head away from the cruel light into the soft cushion cradling his head, searching the darkness that would allow him a little bit more sleep. God, he felt so knackered…

It didn't work though, and soon Harry blinked his eyes open again to a bright-lit room, stretching his sore muscles out on the wonderfully soft bed that just seemed to cradle his body as if suffused with cushioning charms. It soothed his aching muscles well enough and soon he slid back into sleepiness, feeling as comfortable, warm and relaxed as the soreness in his body would allow him to; too relaxed and too drowsy to spend time on pondering why there was a beautifully painted fresco adorning the ceiling above his head.  
It was framed by dark, richly carved wood, looking like an oval window that opened to the sky outside, showing a sea of blue, streaked with white, drifting cotton-wool clouds and partly veiled by the large leaves of vine grapes that were twined around a wooden trellis framing the view of the painted window. Ripe, black grapes hung heavily from the vines, begging to be plucked and songbirds sat amidst the leaves and flew over the sky.  
Harry would have probably found it rather tacky under normal conditions, but the pale coloured fresco was enchanted like the portraits Harry had seen so often, and for some moments his drowsy mind was content to watch the birds flutter from one vine stock to the other, coming to sit right above the grapes, picking at them now and then.

But slowly it registered with him what exactly he was _not_ seeing and that was the white, unadorned ceiling in his room at his aunt's and uncle's, or the dark dreariness at the Black Manor or even the piles of packages in Fred and George's room at the Burrow he had slept in lately…

And with that realisation the memories came crashing down on him like an avalanche. Panic and white-hot agony searing through his veins. The fear of losing his magic, of being blind and deaf, the numbness.

Feeling dead.

Harry sat up, unable to not run from the memory of that sensation and he scrambled out of the bed, tried to, but his damn new appendages crushed painfully into the bedposts that were rather tall, even though they did not end in the ceiling of a canopy bed. He cried out and flinched once again as the sound came out as a full-blown, high-pitched eagle screech.  
Agitatedly his wings fluttered and they folded around him in a protective barrier of dark greens, making him stumble in his attempts to get out of the king size bed and he fell forwards, landing on the hard stone floor with a sudden, dull thud and a surprised outcry.

For long moments he just laid there unmoving, staring wide-eyed at the gleaming, soft feathers that cocooned his huddled form; feathers of emerald and bottle-green and fresh young spring-green, suffused by sunlight, and he tried to shake off the remembered dread and pain that made his shoulders shake with the force of it all.

He breathed, concentrated on that, and slowly the flood of memories abated, gentled. He remembered soothing magic, calming touches, cool explanations, even if two Slytherins had been the bearers. But that didn't matter so much as the fact that his transformation was over and that he was able to see and feel and listen again.

Minutes passed, Harry didn't know how many, while he kept on staring at that silky green texture that taunted him with the knowledge that he was not human any more. He was a creature.  
But that was okay; if Malfoy could live with it, it couldn't be too hard a change to adapt to. He just needed to find out what this bloody inheritance entailed!

Licking over his lips, Harry reached out with one shivering hand, captivated by the clarity with which he could make out the delicate texture of each shiny feather, until his overtaxed mind was distracted by the fact that all five of his fingers ended in dark greyish, almost one and a half inch long talons that were slightly curved towards his palm and ended in dangerously sharp tips.

More clearly than he cared to, Harry remembered how he had scratched himself with those and how … how Malfoy had touched him.

Harry closed his eyes as he felt the dizzying embarrassment of that specific memory rush to his cheeks and huddled closer into the warm comfort of his feathers, feeling them brush softly against his bare torso. How could he have let it happen? How could he have been so helpless? Letting two Slytherins care for him, hold him, direct his magic!

'If you tell Ron, you'll never live this down.' Harry chuckled dryly and that thought helped, gave him something to focus on aside from the insanity of his current situation. He had to get back to the Burrow, to his friends, to Ginny… and he would!

Malfoy had said he had come into some inheritance or another, that he was a Vykeli or something. But he had also said that Harry would be able to transform back again, given time and rest. So the weird changes of his body could wait, what had happened in the hospital could wait.  
What could not wait was the fact that Harry had been kidnapped. And though he probably knew who it was, he couldn't be sure. Someone else could have taken advantage of his weakened state and helplessness; after all it was not as if he had only the one enemy... He needed to find out where he was, who had brought him here and how the hell to get home again.

Carefully he pushed at the soft, downy feathers of his wings, forcing them to open and give his body free, and to his surprise, they fluttered a little bit before pulling themselves right into the skin of his back. For a moment, it felt as if something warm pressed gently but insistently against the places where his wings had sprouted from his torso and then that, too, was gone, leaving him feeling a little bit exhausted, but endlessly relieved.  
Without those things, he definitely felt better, or at least more familiar, more like himself and he was able to relax a little bit; it seemed that Malfoy and Zabini had not lied to him: he could change back.  
He decided to take that as a good sign.

Standing up, Harry quickly scanned his surroundings but it seemed that at least he was alone in the ridiculously large room. How much time did one have to spend in a bedroom to require so much space anyway? And wide, pillar-framed archways to the right and opposite of the king size bed seemed to lead to even more rooms. What lay behind them, however, was veiled by long, flowing curtains and that made Harry quite nervous. He couldn't be sure that he was alone…  
Intently he listened for some moments but there was nothing aside from a distant rushing that spoke of a large body of water close by.

He inched towards the wide windows through which sun flooded the room, careful to keep low and not let himself be seen from outside as he came to stand beside one of the windows, peeking out from behind the light, flowing curtains that hang to both sides of it.

Harry had to admit that it was a breathtaking view that unfurled before him: beneath the window a large, beautiful garden spread in five terraces over a shallow acclivity towards the deep blue sea, the smallest of them being a dozen meters wide at least, the largest was the nethermost one that seemed to be a park in and of itself. It vaguely reminded Harry of a castle's pleasure ground, just with more exotic plants and not as strictly geometric in the shape of the beds and greens.  
Throughout the different terraces, several patios were nestled in between rocks and exotic plants, belted with flat stonewalls, shadowed by trees of various kinds that Harry had never even seen before - and he doubted seriously that any muggle had, either.

The nearest of these patios was on the first terrace: a table with a complex tessellation of blues and greens was being set up by House elves with bowls of fruit, carafes of some golden liquid and three place settings.  
Right next to it, an artificial, probably magical well fed a small, stone-edged rivulet running downwards to the second terrace and into an impressively large pool, the water glittering in the sunlight so brightly that it almost blinded him. From there the little stream fled towards the sea, building small ponds where the water cascaded from one terrace to the other.

And there were colours; so many immeasurable hues and values, so many unexpected patterns on the leaves and petals of these plants and he was vaguely aware that he really shouldn't be seeing so many details from so far a distance…

It was a beautiful view, but it didn't help him decipher what he needed to know, aside from the fact that he obviously was not anyway near the British Islands anymore. Whoever had taken him had enough influence to get a portkey to wherever he was now…

"Enjoying the view once again, Potter?"

Harry whipped around at hearing that lilting, teasing drawl and he snarled, knowing that whatever he said now would be unintelligible anyway. There right in front of the curtain veiled archway opposite of the king size bed stood Malfoy and Zabini, as poised and arrogant as ever but somehow stronger and more truly self-assured than ever before, too. Confident enough to answer Harry's defensive stance with barely concealed amusement as they stepped into the room.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter; does this seem as if we tried to harm you in any way?" Malfoy asked with his telltale smirk, pointing to the room's luxurious interior with an indefinite sweeping gesture that seemed to include everything and nothing at once, as if he wanted Harry to read into it whatever would be most beneficial for him.

Harry raised his chin defiantly but did not lower his guard any; in his humble opinion, he had every right to any bout of undue paranoia he felt like having, especially after their shared enmity during their schooldays and the war combined with their molestation of his person during the past night.  
But as he glanced at his surroundings once more, taking in the elegant, finely lathed furnishings of dark wood and flowing sand-coloured fabric, he had to admit that Malfoy was right: these were not the rooms of a prisoner.

He immediately turned his head back towards the two Slytherins though, who were still advancing on him and slowly Harry pressed himself against the room's outer wall just to get a little bit further away from them, and bared his teeth in a silent warning.  
"Why so hostile, Potter?" The darker of the two murmured, his low voice like a caress. "And so silent. Still unable to speak?"

Harry really considered not answering: having helped him during the transformation and keeping from openly antagonizing him didn't give them the right to kidnap him! But he really needed to find out how to change back, he had done it only by chance with his wings after all; and furthermore something about the way Zabini was looking at him was utterly distracting … like a starved vampire, maybe.

"You retracted those gorgeous wings and couldn't change back your voice box?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, his lips curled into a sneer. "Mordred, Potter, your priorities!"

Zabini reached over towards the blonde, a small gesture since they stood so close to each other, his hand brushing against the other's lower arm for but a moment. Harry could see Malfoy's lips tightening scarcely perceptibly before his expression relaxed, softened almost and he continued with a milder tone of voice.  
"Just concentrate on your speech, on what you want to say and how to voice it; how it might feel to voice it. Your magic learned and memorized the change yesterday night; you don't need to direct it in any way. But do not overdo it: you are still magically exhausted and transformations are tiring after all."

Harry stared, he knew he did, but he really couldn't stop himself. Draco Malfoy, the top dog of Slytherin House being … if not reproved then at least reminded to act polite by another Slytherin. It was … grotesque. But Harry remembered the way Zabini had threatened him last night when he had bitten the blonde and his suspicion that their relationship was somewhat deeper than that of the Ice Prince to one of his cronies. It seemed he was more than right.

Still a little bit stunned he followed Malfoy's advice and thought of the sound of his voice as he heard it, the small vibrations that one felt during speaking but only when one concentrated on them. Something shifted in his throat. Not painfully, just oddly and he reached up, feeling the tendons and the hard knob that was his voice box.

"We'll have a late noon meal in the garden." Zabini said as he stepped past Harry towards the large window he had been looking out from. Then he turned suddenly, his eyes glinting as they travelled from the thin pyjama bottoms that the Gryffindor wore to his bare chest. For a short moment he locked eyes with Malfoy, and then he smirked back at Harry.  
"You might want to dress, but if you don't like what we laid out for you earlier," and without taking his eyes off Harry, he gestured towards the end of the large king-size bed with the now rumpled summer coat. Right at its foot stood an elegantly curved foot bench made of a dark wood, with a velvety, sand-coloured upholstering; and on it was a neat pile of black and blue clothing.  
"…you are welcome to further show off those markings of yours."

"Markings?" Harry exclaimed, looking down at his body. Indeed, there were dark emerald lines travelling down the sides of his ribcage in a swirling pattern of curves and curls, some thicker, some thinner. They ran over his waist along his hipbones and vanished under the waistband of the black pyjama bottoms.  
'Oh, Merlin, please don't tell me they disrobed me…'

His eyes must have widened comically because both of the Slytherins started to chuckle at him; well, Zabini did. Malfoy's answer was more along the lines of a derisive snort.

"Shut up!" Harry growled, feeling uncomfortably naked all of a sudden. Self-consciously he drew his arms around his chest and glared fiercely at the other two men. Trust Slytherins to find something to ridicule when there were much more pressing matters at hand. And there were so many …  
"Where am I?" He asked the first question that sprung to his mind and it seemed to trigger more and more and like an avalanche they gained in force and anger as they came rushing from his lips.  
"Why have you brought me here? And what the hell happened? Why do I have fucking wings and claws and I don't know what else? Why were you there? Huh? In the hospital, why were you there? And why the hell did you bloody bastards fucking kidnap me?"

Angrily Harry glared at the two stunned Slytherins.  
"Never mind!" he snarled as they stayed silent; he didn't really much care for what they had to say anyways. "Give me back my wand and my clothes and then take me back to … to London!"

"I liked him better when he was unable to talk…" Malfoy sighed almost wistfully.

"Potter - Harry." Zabini said, his lilting voice calm and low. "Please dress and join us in the garden. We will explain everything then."

"My wand first!" Harry ground out. Really he didn't want to stay defenceless a minute longer than necessary, especially in the company of someone who had been the bane of his existence throughout his days at Hogwarts.

"We don't have it." Malfoy replied with a slight frown. "You didn't have it with you when you were brought to St. Mungo's."

"You took me from there?"

"Of course."

"And the Weasley's?" Harry asked, knowing that they must have been the ones to bring him to the wizard hospital. He couldn't for one moment believe that they had just allowed the two Slytherins to just levitate him out like a trunk.

Malfoy cocked his head, his gaze boring into Harry. "They are not related to you."

Harry waited, but the unnerving bastard didn't elaborate further and after a few moments of taut silence, he ground his teeth and snapped "Duh! Of course they aren't! What the fuck do you mean, Malfoy?"

The git only stared at him blankly for a little while; then he sighed dramatically as if Harry made him life through the epitome of martyrdom and recited with exaggerated patience. "Only relatives are allowed close to a patient without the patient's express permission which you were unable to give at the time. I know that many healers before were willing to bend the rules a little bit for their ever so noble 'Chosen One', but Healer Cowan was not... he seemed a little bit uptight if you ask me, and I am certain that my father will be having a nice little chat with him soon concerning his enthusiasm for his work. And bondage." He added as an afterthought but waved the comment away with a beatific smile.

"They don't know what happened?" Harry exclaimed and the thought made him shiver. Not only would his surrogate family worry endlessly over him, frantically - they were a little bit overprotective lately what with the end of the war and Voldemort's vengeful supporters still scattered over Britain and bloodthirsty reporters on his heels - but more importantly no one _knew_ where he was. He was at the mercy of his captors and no one might ever find out what happened to him. Oh, he knew his friends would search for him and if anyone would be able to find him, then it was Hermione and Ron, but what if they came too late … too late to stop whatever Malfoy and Zabini wanted to do with him? _To him_?

"My mother will probably have told them, I don't imagine your little sidekicks will be happy to find out that you're no longer within the wards of St. Mungo's, but as they saw me and Blaise there, they will know whom to ask."

"And why would she tell them?" Harry sneered, because he felt so damn out of his element.

"Because there is no reason not to: we did nothing illegal by bringing you here." Blaise said in that slight, patiently indulgent tone of voice with which one would answer the questions of a small child. It made Harry's blood boil.

"You kidnapped me!" He all but shouted and took an aggressive step forward before stopping himself. God, how he wanted to smash that bastard's face in, but he didn't have a wand and they did and he suffered from magical exhaustion whereas they looked as well rested as one could possibly get. Therefore, he restrained himself, balling his hands into fists and concentrated on the distractingly painful feeling of his nails cutting into his palms.

"Not according to Vykélari laws; no we didn't." Malfoy said, all humour vanished from his face and voice and his expression was so hard and grave that Harry had to swallow, suddenly unsure. What if it was true? What if they really had the right to kidnap him?

His head was still reeling from the implication of that thought when Zabini stepped forward and laid his right hand on Malfoy's shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Listen, Potter, you really need to know about your inheritance, about the laws of our kind. Laws that overrule the laws of the ministry whenever in conflict. Moreover, you need to learn how to control your abilities and how to curb your magic. We can show you how."

Harry shook his head. "Why would I trust you?"

"We didn't harm you despite of having the chance multiple times now, and I owe you a life debt. Why would we harm you now?" Malfoy asked in turn, his head cocked to one side and his face blazing in a flash of sunlight that made his eyes pale so much that Harry thought he might have been looking at a demon who had no iris but only two contracted little points of deepest black that seemed to pierce him right through.

Without really wanting to, Harry found himself complying reluctantly. But really, he didn't have much of a choice: without a wand he was pretty much at Malfoy's and Zabini's mercy and he should probably be more affable at least until he found a way to escape.

* * *

Minutes later the two Slytherins led the way down a wide, elegantly curved staircase, along a short sand-coloured corridor and into the garden. Harry trailed behind them thoughtfully as he considered the tall figures before him.

In retrospect, they didn't seem much different from when he had seen them at Malfoy's trial not so long ago; but he hadn't really taken note of their appearance then. Now, in the middle of the sunlit, beautiful garden with no other people around them, no task like the awkward returning of a wand to distract him, Harry couldn't help but notice how different they looked from when all three of them had still been at Hogwarts.  
They were no longer the irritating, easy-to-rile schoolboys he had known, Harry thought as he studied them, even though they were still irritating enough, or maybe even more so now that he was at their mercy and had to take them seriously for once.

They were both elegantly dressed and Harry would have thought that they had been out or were about to depart to some fancy restaurant or something, but the two snobbish Slytherins probably thought their attire to be 'casual'.  
Malfoy wore jet-black trousers and a dark blue-grey, tapered vest above a white, simple but elegant shirt. It might have been silk or something else, Harry really couldn't tell; it looked as if Harry would have found the price too ridiculous to pay for a bit of clothing, though. Not that it didn't look stunning on Malfoy's pale, lean muscled form, it really did: tall and proud he projected an aura of confidence and deadly grace like – like someone you really didn't want to mess with.

Zabini, on the other hand, was the image of darkness, seductive taboo, with his dark olive tan, and the black, tight-fitting dress shirt and charcoal jeans that hugged his muscular form in such a way they just had to have been tailored. He had left the first buttons of his shirt open and, all in all, he looked striking with the simplicity and elegance of his outfit. And from the look on his face, he knew it, too.

That was when he noticed that the Slytherins had both turned and regarded him with almost identical smirks and Harry flushed. God, when had Zabini and Malfoy started to be able to make Harry lose himself in his thoughts? The war should have taught him better, _had_ taught him better than that in fact.

"Sorry. Sorry, I just…" Harry muttered and then broke off with a shrug. There was no way that he would admit to having ogled them…

But then Malfoy took his hand and he must have used a small touch of his magic that made Harry's skin tingle pleasantly where the blonde's fingers stroked over the back of his hand, invigorating in a way that made his heart beat faster. As he looked up, Malfoy gave him a little half-smile, an honest smile, not those sneers and smirks he usually wore and Harry found himself staring again. He didn't really notice as the blonde led him towards the little patio he had seen earlier from the window in his room, too distracted by the surprisingly warm fingers touching his own so gently. He _did_ notice when Zabini pulled out the chair for him and he was urged to sit. God had he ever felt so flustered?

"Uhm…" Harry started, scrambling for something to say even before his hosts had taken their seats (and when the hell had they transformed from enemies and kidnappers to hosts?).  
Feeling extremely uncomfortable again, Harry cleared his throat. "So, where are we?"

Zabini chuckled warmly as he sat down to Harry's right. "In Lanai Manor. Well, my mother calls it Zabini Manor since I inherited it after my father's death, but the locals still call it Lanai Manor."

"That doesn't mean anything to me…" Harry admitted absent-mindedly with a slight frown, watching as Malfoy poured him a glass of that golden liquid.  
"And what is that?" He asked suspiciously.

"Hesperides' Nectar. It is made of a variety of apples that my father's family cultivates. A rather expensive treat since the trees themselves need magic to grow, which the farmers have to infuse them with - there are just so few places nowadays with natural magic and the ones that exist are protected and can't be used for farming." Zabini explained, watching Harry intently.  
"But I digress: we are at the Costa Tirrenica in Italy."

"A-huh." Harry murmured though he really had no idea where that was; he had never been very good at geography. For a moment, he busied himself by watching the liquid swirl around in his glass like molten gold. That was better than trying to hold the Slytherins' weird gazes; those were starting to really freak him out…

"So, what am I now? And what did you mean when you said you had the right to bring me here without my consent?" he tried to keep his voice calm, he really did, but it sounded tense and taut even to him.

For a moment silence spread over the small table, and Harry looked up to see the two Slytherins sharing a glance; as if they were holding a quiet conversation.

"Have some fruit salad, Potter, you must be hungry." Malfoy said at last as he turned to him once again, completely ignoring Harry's question, and with a roguish smile he started piling the mixture of fruits on the crystalline dessert plate of his guest.  
Harry merely gaped at him open-mouthed: they had promised to explain! Nevertheless, the git continued completely unperturbed.

"I'm afraid that your stomach will be easily upset for one or two days with animal products, thanks to your new features combined with some traces of magical exhaustion."

"Malfoy…" The feathers in Harry's hair raised themselves warningly as he growled at the blonde, making the Gryffindor look as if he wore a somewhat chaotic crest of emeralds. Both Malfoy and Zabini exchanged an amused glance over the table at that, wondering if Harry was aware of how his new body mirrored his emotions… probably not.

"Hush, I'm getting to your questions, alright? No need to be so uncouth." Malfoy clicked his tongue disapprovingly and raised his chin, a slight frown creasing his pale brow. Harry wondered absent-mindedly if that was something he had copied from Narcissa Malfoy or from his father.

"I already explained some of it during your transformation yesterday night."

"Yeah, I remember. I'm a Vykeli now?" Harry asked, frowning at the weird silver fork in his hand that only had two long, thin and very sharp prongs.

"A Vykélari, Potter." Zabini corrected with a raised eyebrow. "And that is a fruit fork, it won't attack you."

Glaring at the olive skinned male, Harry stabbed a slice of peach and brought it to his mouth. He just wanted them to get to the fucking point, but it didn't seem as if they would anytime soon if Harry didn't at least start eating some of that crap. As his lips closed over the soft slice, however, he almost choked on the rich, sweet taste that exploded in his mouth, at the thick juice that swirled over his tongue.  
He had frozen in his movements for a few moments and only swallowed once he was sure he wouldn't get it into the wrong tube and he licked over his lips in search of that wonderful flavour before looking up again and flushing. Zabini was leaning back in his chair, watching him with an approving and oddly appreciative expression as if Harry had accomplished something he hadn't expected him to and as if that had raised his esteem in the tanned Italian's eyes. And then something flickered over his face, something blazing and burning but it was gone so fast that Harry was not even sure if he had imagined it.  
With much unease, he tore his gaze from the one and hefted it on the other, but that didn't help settle the fluttering in his stomach any as Malfoy refused to be the school-enemy Harry half-expected to see. Instead he sat upright in his chair, poised like a proper pureblood heir, Harry thought, but the sinews of his throat stood out as if he was fighting an inner, fierce battle and his eyes locked with Harry's and they seemed to devour him whole. If there was ever an albino-Nundu, Harry thought it had to look the way Malfoy was looking right now.

Feeling more than a little bit flustered and queasy, Harry averted his gaze and laid down his fork ostensibly carefully. "Uhm. The inheritance. Vykeli?"

"Vykélari, Potter."

"Yeah. Right. Uhm, why … why don't you … I mean I want, that is, I'd like to know why I became … that and why you … how I came to be here?"

He heard a sigh from his right, where Zabini sat and that seemed to break the sudden tension but he didn't look up nonetheless.

"Vykélari have been an integral part of the wizarding society for many centuries now, Potter. Especially here in Britain. Many purebloods once had the genes before the blood thinned or the genes were lost during one generation of only female descendants. You see, what distinguishes us from normal wizards are a set of additional genes located on the Y chromosome, that is why only males can become Vykélari.  
A wizard with those genes will not always transform however, although the genes themselves are dominant. That is because the transformation itself is very exhausting and a weak wizard would not survive the rebuilding of his magical core. The genes therefore only activate when the wizard has a chance to survive."

"So I was powerful enough to transform and therefore I did? Brilliant. Where does the gene come from in my family, do you know that?"

"Didn't you listen, Potter? It's a Y-chromosomal succession. It's obviously from your pure-blooded paternal side, from the Potter line."

"Sorry." Harry exclaimed tartly. "But I didn't hear of anyone who was not … who became _that_ in my family."

Malfoy clicked his tongue once again, making Harry wonder how many times he could make the git do that during a certain time span. "It's been over 200 years since the last Potter fledged. Your ancestors were not powerful enough."

Harry cringed. "Could you not use that word, please? It makes me sound like an animal."  
And more to distract himself a little bit from the implications of that than anything else, Harry took the glass with the Hesperides' Nectar and sniffed carefully before taking a sip. Then he had to take another sip and another. It had a thick, velvety texture as it flowed over his tongue and it was cool and oh so very rich in its taste and sweet and utterly refreshing like cold spring water and it prickled gently on his tongue and throat as he swallowed. It was intoxicating and addicting and Harry had never tasted anything like it before…

Suddenly Zabini laughed and urged him to set the glass down with a gentle hand on his forearm. "Really, Potter. This is something to be enjoyed; something to be relished! Try drinking it slowly and savour the taste." But his eyes sparkled as Malfoy and he shared a grin, maybe remembering the first time they had tasted this specific beverage.

Then Malfoy shook his head slightly and continued. "Not an animal. I also dislike the term creature. We are human magical beings and therefore allowed to use wands just like wizards and have the same laws, well except those for mating, there are some additional rules and some liberties we may presume because of Vykélari mating habits. Not that they were enacted during the last 200 years…"

"Only mating laws?" Harry whispered, but his tone had some cutting quality to it and Malfoy fell silent and nodded, fixing him with an inquisitive stare.

"But you said that the special laws of Vykélari were why you brought me here and why … why it was legal that you did. So, since that has nothing to do with mating… it hasn't, has it?"  
'Oh, Merlin, please deny it!' Harry thought, looking from Zabini to Malfoy and back, feeling more horrified with every passing moment of silence. But his kidnappers only shared a carefully neutral glance before observing him once more. 'Oh god, it's true.'  
All those stares, those hungry glances, the molestation in St. Mungo's. It all made sense in that horrible way. "Oh Merlin!" he groaned.

"Potter … Harry," Zabini started, but Harry didn't want to listen to what he had to say. He didn't know what mating entailed exactly but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't like it; not with his school nemesis and another he didn't even know, anyway. And, damn it, they were male all three of them and … and he would not be part of a… of a _threesome_; especially not with those two!

He shot up from his chair, swaying a little bit as his battered cardiovascular system fought to keep up with him. But he managed to steady himself with the back of his chair and glared down at the two Slytherins.  
"No! This madness has gone on long enough: I want to go now! Get me a portkey to London, I want to go home!"

"No Harry. You can't go home. You won't." Malfoy said gravely as he, too, stood and his perfect composure made Harry bristle.  
"You cannot keep me here!"

"You have no idea what awaits you. There are about 180 Vykélari in Britain alone who are of the right age to seek someone to mate. You are the first submissive in over 200 years, Harry and by now they will know of your existence." He stepped closer to Harry, his shoulders squared and his face set in an expression of so inflexible determination and stubbornness that Harry involuntarily took a step back before he could stop himself. Never had he felt the few inches that separated them more than at that very moment.

"They will already be searching for you, Harry." Zabini said from his place at the table, never having stood. "We can protect you. We would never force a mating bond upon you. But if they find you, have no doubt that they will not care if you are willing or not."

They were mad! Utterly insane! He was no submissive whatever that meant, he couldn't be. And why the hell would other males try to mate with him anyway? Especially purebloods? There was no better way to end a bloodline than to marry someone who was unable to bear children. It didn't make sense that they would, and even if they were: he had escaped Voldemort's supporters, he would always escape.

"I can protect myself well enough, thank you very much! I don't need your help!" Harry seethed, his hands shaking badly at his side. "And you won't come anywhere near me; I'll go back to England with or without your help!" And then he would get Hermione to find out what all of this fucking _meant_!

He turned to leave just as he heard a clapping sound and then a cacophony of pops all around him, precursors of the almost two dozen house-elves that appeared out of the thin air. Curiously they stared at him, but their main focus was on Zabini.

"Mr. Potter is not allowed to leave the grounds." He heard Zabini's imperious voice and stiffly and very slowly, he turned. Zabini had stood finally, bracing himself against the tessellated table with both hands, leaning forward menacingly. His hard gaze bore into Harry as he addressed his servants without even sparing them one glance. Next to him, Malfoy watched him with a carefully neutral expression but Harry thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch suspiciously and that made him want to scream and rant and shout at them.  
But at the same time he felt as if he had been hit with a Body-Bind and he found himself too stunned to move.

"If he gets within thirty feet of the wards he is to be stunned and apparated into my study to await my, or Master Draco's, arrival. For now, he is not to carry a wand. Apart from that, you will serve his every wish like you would serve a Zabini. That is all."

And as if that dismissal was meant for him, Harry turned with a furious snarl and stormed towards the manor to flee the Slytherins' company and retreat into 'his' rooms. He would find a way to escape if it was the last thing he would do!

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

And reviews are always appreciated...


	6. Debates

**CHAPTER 6: Debates**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
aliengirlguy asked if Snape could be alive in this story and since she was so nice to provide a reasonable explanation (I really didn't think of that simple one, mine was much more complicated, so thanks!) and since I like Snape in that weird way that no one would be able to explain rationally, I've decided that I want him to live, too.  
I hope it won't bother anyone…

Anyway: A huge, heartfelt THANK YOU to all who reviewed, especially to Obsessed362, my review record holder, you're wonderful! :D  
And to those I didn't answer directly: I really enjoyed reading your reviews but couldn't answer because you disabled Private Messages so, yeah, well: thanks for reviewing!

* * *

It was the night after his son's engagement party, the night after The Submissive had appeared out of nowhere and fledged - Lucius really couldn't bring himself to speak of the Potter brat by his name and simultaneously think of him as the future bearer of his grandchildren yet; that was .. it was just … gross.  
However that be, that very night found the Malfoy patriarch in the manor's library, deeply buried in scrolls, mouldy tomes and small diaries written in neat, elegant handwriting that had been accumulated by his family over the decades, the centuries; or had been written by his ancestors themselves.

One by one he pulled the yellowed documents from their respective places in the tall, dark bookshelves and spread them out on one of the brightly illuminated tables to brood over his lecture, trying to find out as much as he could about Vykélari mating habits and submissives in general.  
The yield however, was scarce at best and each document was quickly discarded and brought back to its rightful place by a House Elf again.

It seemed that after the Potter line had been declared extinct three generations - almost seventy years - ago, the documentation on that topic had been flagitiously neglected. Now they paid the price.

All Lucius had found out was that a submissive would quickly grow fascinated with powerful, extravagant and complicated magic. One of his ancestors had actually written in his diary that he had wooed his just fledged husband with a 'dance of magic, a stream of passion, aggression, desire and devotion; the promise of wondrous and mysterious things; a delicate balance between obeying the symbolism and laws of magic and daring to go beyond them' - whatever that meant. Reading those lines, Lucius had to wonder if the presence of a submissive was somehow affecting a Vykélari's sense of reality. Surely no ancestor of his would have used such language if he was in his right mind…

Lucius leaned back in his arm chair, rubbing over his aching temples, feeling worn out and frustrated. The whole matter was, frankly, utterly maddening: he wante¬¬d that submissive bound to the Malfoy name, he couldn't express in words just how much he wanted that and none of his ancestors had deemed it necessary to write their experiences with submissives down! And damn it, it was too delicate a matter for risky experiments…

He didn't turn around when he heard the rhythmic clicks of heels on the wooden panels of the library, nor did he acknowledge the presence of his wife until she stood directly behind him and laid her hands onto his shoulders, stroking out and kneading his hard, tightly wound muscles. Only his pride kept him from moaning right then and there as he relaxed beneath her skilled touch.  
Then Narcissa bowed down, her lips almost touching his ears.  
"Amalyne is right, you know, Lucius," she breathed against his ear softly. "Blaise and Draco are Slytherins: too ambitious to ignore the power right in front of them. It will seduce them and make them want to possess and control it. And they will take it in due time. But your son is _your_ son, Lucius:" ever so gently Narcissa took her husband's chin between her fingers and turned his head around to capture the intense grey of his eyes. A smile played around her lips as if indecisive about coming forward or not.  
"Strong-willed and stubborn just as much as Blaise is. They will not want your intervention, nor will they allow or accept it."

With that Narcissa leaned forward and kissed the pale lips harshly, hungrily, her fingers moving from Lucius' jaw to cup his cheek before she forced him away again. "Power, Lucius, is what makes all Malfoys weak-kneed."

But she allowed him to stroke over her slightly swollen lips with his thumb and bit it teasingly, never looking away from his sparkling gaze. "I love you, Cissy."

"I know." She whispered back, cocking one elegantly curved eyebrow teasingly as she straightened herself and turned to leave. Lucius watched her measured, graceful steps, the sway of her slender hips. Gods, how he loved her…

But she halted at the door and threw him a look over her shoulder, her eyes blazing as she saw him observing her.  
"By the way, dear: Severus is waiting downstairs and you know how he gets when he's away from his toys for too long, so I suggest you join him before he decides to poison your liquor or curse your arm chair again."  
She paused for a moment, her lips curled in amusement as she remembered the one or the other incident when such a thing had happened. "Mordred, Lucius, I never understood your friendship!"

* * *

Severus Snape halted for a moment as he strode into the parlour that he always favoured when coming to the Manor. It was smaller than most, plainer and therefore more to his liking.  
However, it was not the unpretentious room's interior that startled him, but a life-sized portrait leaning against the cold fireplace in front of a set of throne like arm chairs with tall, stiff backrests that he knew from experience were more comfortable than they looked.

Recovering his poise almost immediately, Severus bowed lowly, a moment longer than politeness would have demanded of him, but really, he needed the additional moment to mask the amused smirk threatening to spread over his face. Was this Narcissa's way of telling him not to prank his husband anymore?

The portrait to which he had bowed - it was the only one he would ever show that much respect to, including the picture of Dumbledore in Hogwarts - chuckled lowly.  
"Well, well, well." The man in it drawled. "If it isn't the young Prince."  
He was a tall, lean man with snow white hair and piercing ice blue eyes, bluer than Lucius' or Draco's grey ones but nonetheless he showed obvious similarities with the current Malfoy patriarch and heir: the paleness of his long hair and skin, his poise, the arrogance that became apparent in his eyes and the lines around his thin lips.  
Though Severus had to admit that Draco had learned valuable lessons in that regard during the war.

And yet, this Malfoy was special to him, because under the tutelage of Cygnus Malfoy's painting, Severus had learned more about the finer arts of potions than any book or professor had ever managed to teach him.  
Lucius had always persuaded his father Abraxas to let Severus brew his potions in one of the Manor's dungeons and take the picture of Cygnus with him. He didn't know what his friend had told the old Malfoy; probably that it would be highly beneficial to have a potions master close to the family and devoted to them. Severus really didn't care.

"You didn't show yourself for quite some time, boy." The white haired man eyed him intently, and only due to his longstanding acquaintance with Cygnus' painting did Severus recognize the faint concern resonating in the strong, haughty voice. He inclined his head slightly in concession.  
"I would ask for your forgiveness, if I thought you would give it."

"I wouldn't expect such good manners from a Half-Blood anyway." The comment didn't hold any sting, not from him, not anymore. He had fought hard for Cygnus Malfoy's respect and he knew he had it.  
"Tell me, Prince, how are your studies?"

"Unfortunately I haven't had much time, lately. Surely even your painted self couldn't have ignored that there was a war? I lost count of the numbers of trials I had to attend as a witness during the past month!"

"Petty excuses do not suit you, Severus. I thought you wanted to try out your idea on that spying potion?"

"_Your_ idea on that spying potion, Sir." Severus granted with a small hand-wave. "And I did. I dare say it is a rather beautiful thing, and very helpful in keeping your descendants out of trouble."

He had used the dark, clear liquid that shone coldly as if suffused by moonlight on every one of the three Ministry officials working on 'the Malfoy case'. It had been very difficult since the potion needed to be applied to the target's eye but after getting one of the Malfoy House-Elves to learn how to levitate single drops of the liquid it had been easy. Since the drops were dark, the poor victims had merely thought an insect had flown into their eyes or something similar. While muttering curses and rubbing their eyes they were blissfully unaware of the fact that somewhere in the Malfoy Manor a shallow silver bowl with the same liquid would start to glow and swirl and from then on act as a pensieve of some sort, only that it showed what currently happened instead of memories.  
Currently, three friends of the family that were very highly paid and therefore _very_ good friends were watching those three officials during their waking hours. That way Lucius, Draco and Narcissa had always known just what line of action would benefit them the most, had known when their house would be searched for dark artefacts and how to avoid suspicion.

That, together with a milder version of a love potion - which made the three Aurors along with their three watchdogs sympathize with the Malfoy family and ignore most of the evidence during their investigations - would make sure that Lucius Malfoy would never see the inside of a prison cell again and had played an important role in the acquittal of Draco and Narcissa.

Well, maybe the amount of Galleons changing hands right before the trials had something to do with that, too.

"It is a sad day when a Malfoy has need of a Half-Blood to safe him." Cygnus smirked as one of Severus' eyebrows rose dangerously. "But if my lineage has succumbed to that level of uselessness, I can think of no one I'd rather have at their side."

Severus bowed his head in thanks, accepting the compliment for what it was. Really, he did like that portrait.

At that moment Lucius entered the smaller parlour. "Severus! Are you already reacquainting yourself with Cygnus? I swear I always wondered when he would persuade my father to blood-adopt you."

"You know he would never have done that." Severus said dismissively. And indeed it would have been frowned upon by many a dark pureblood family and might have done much damage to the Malfoy name if Abraxas had adopted him; something no Malfoy would risk willingly.

"Anyway," Severus continued as his friend finally came to stand in front of him and he clasped his hand in greeting "where is my godson?"

"Actually, he's not here." Lucius suppressed a smirk. Severus would not like this…  
"You were not at the engagement party." He said conversationally as he sat down in one of the heavily upholstered arm chairs, intent on drawing out his fun as much as possible.

"Of course I wasn't. I told Draco I wouldn't be there. If I had been, I'm sure the evening would have ended with some corpses, and not mine!" He hated such gatherings where everyone present would sneer at him as if he were some stray that Lucius had graciously decided to take home and shelter. The last time he had nearly hexed Druella Rosier, Narcissa's mother, into oblivion.

"I know, and Draco understands. But really, it is a pity you weren't there, _this time_."

Severus cocked an eyebrow as he observed his friend and took a seat himself. What could have happened to make Lucius that excited? And the man was; probably only someone who knew him closely would be able to see it, but the Malfoy patriarch literally burst with the thrill over these news, whatever they were. He stole a quick glance at Cygnus but the portrait only shook his head and smirked back.

"Lucius, put your poor guest out of his misery; you know potion masters use all the patience they have on their potions, leaving nothing for ill-mannered brats."

Affronted, Lucius looked at the painting of his ancestor. "I knew I should have burned you years ago."

Cygnus chuckled lowly, not in the least bit troubled. "You would have, had you been able to remove the protective potions that were mixed into the paints of my painting." He drawled.

"You tried to do what!?" Severus exclaimed, incensed that his friend had tried to get rid of something he treasured that much. "Don't you dare do anything to that painting, Lucius! I warn you!"

The blonde rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I tried to give him to you, but somehow the portrait can't be removed from the House and whenever I have the House Elves put it away in a storeroom, he just visits the other portraits in the gallery. I didn't know what to do with him!"

"You can't put a Malfoy aside like that, boy! As a Malfoy you should know that!" Cygnus snarled.

"Anyway!" Severus called out, drawing the attention to himself again. "I'll visit more often, Sir, and if Lucius is not averse to the idea, we could brew together in the dungeons again…"

"I'm fine with that" Lucius drawled "It should keep the nuisance occupied…"

"Show more respect to your elders, you…"

"PLEASE! Will the two of you stop that and just tell me what happened?" Severus cried out, his furious gaze flickering from one Malfoy to the other.

"Ah, yes…" Cygnus started before Lucius could, causing the actually physically present man to curl his lips in indignation. "The Potter line brought forth the first Vykélari in over two centuries."

"Really? Harry Potter?" Severus drawled, his eyes narrowing dangerously but he was actually a little bit disappointed. That was Lucius' grand surprise? "Just one reason more for the boy to mistake himself for someone special. And why by Morgaine did you think this would interest me?"

"Oh, nothing" Lucius waved his hand dismissively in a poor imitation of nonchalance. "He is just the first submissive in over two centuries and currently residing in Italy with Blaise and Draco as his guides during such a difficult and trying experience." He rolled around the words in his mouth with obvious relish as if they were some rare delicacy.

Severus obviously didn't think so as he gaped at his friend, aghast. "What? Lucius, are you mad?"  
Blaise, Draco and Potter alone in Italy? The three young men would probably kill each other! Then he stumbled in his thoughts. Submissive?

Unperturbed by his startled expression, the portrait continued. "Oh, hush, Prince! The young one will be quite an addition to our noble house. He'll…"

Quickly, Severus leaped up, furious anger written all over his face. "You want them to bond? Now I _know_ you are insane! He is a reckless, stubborn, utterly dim-witted rule breaker whose fame got to his head! Damn it, Lucius, all of his achievements originated in sheer luck and the willingness of others to sacrifice themselves for him! I don't want that sacrifice to be Draco one day!"

"Severus, _Draco_ will be the one to control him! As the dominants, Draco and Blaise will keep him under their thumb." Lucius muttered reassuringly, trying to assuage his friend's rage.

"He cannot be controlled!" The black haired man growled, starting to pace the room.  
"Dumbledore tried to control him and failed, the ministry tried to control him and they failed spectacularly!"

Then, quite suddenly Severus spun around, his robes billowing behind him. "What did Blaise and Draco say to this? Did they agree?"

Cautiously, Lucius observed his friend. Of course he had known that Severus wouldn't react well to the news but he hadn't thought it would be quite this bad.

"Why do you hate the boy so, Severus?" he wondered uncomprehendingly. "Isn't it a bit hypocritical seeing as you fought for his side, abandoned our cause, our family?"  
And really, he hadn't quite forgiven him for that, though he was inclined to condone it most of the time, seeing how Severus had helped his son during the war and how he had assisted their whole family immediately and without hesitation during the difficult time of the trials.

Severus only huffed in indignation. "Isn't it hypocritical to berate me for betraying the Dark Lord when you were the only Malfoy loyal to him in the end? And not even you fought during that last battle."

Silence hit the room, so oppressive that not even Cygnus in his portrait dared to take an inanimate breath. Then one corner of Severus' mouth twitched treacherously and Lucius started to grin a moment later and shook his head.  
"You're right, old friend." He chuckled dryly.

"I don't hate him per se." Severus murmured tiredly, rubbing over his face with one hand as he once again took his seat "I hate how inconsiderate he tends to be, I abhor how ignorant he is and how much like his father. I hate that everyone worships him just because Lily gave her life for him. He did nothing, Lucius. It was her! Dumbledore hinted at it, though of course he never directly said it. _She_ was the one to vanquish the Dark Lord; it was her sacrifice that did it, no action of Potter's. But for what? For a small brat of that git…" Severus shook his head a little bit in disgust.  
"In his first year he supposedly defeated him once again, but it was her protection that did the deed. In his second year, he would have died if not for Dumbledore's phoenix saving his sorry ass. In his fourth year, it was once again only luck that saved him, the fortunate circumstance that his and the Dark Lord's wand were brothers and he owes his escape to the spectres of Lily and the others the dark lord had killed. In his fifth year, he got his godfather killed and endangered his friends and many members of that ridiculous Order of the Phoenix because of his stupidity and rashness. And later he almost killed Draco, for Merlin's sake!"

Weakly, Severus waved his hand in an indefinite gesture. "The list goes on and on." He whispered. "And I don't want Draco or Blaise to be drawn into that maelstrom of destruction that is Potter's life."

"All very good reasons. But why follow him then?" Cygnus asked from the frame, his face carefully blank as he observed his beloved student. Severus only stared ahead.

"I didn't follow him. I never did. I tried to keep him alive, because he was Lilly's; but that is all I owed her. I only switched sides to begin with because I was trying to keep her safe and once I had done that, I couldn't go back, I was already a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause."  
Severus looked up, determinedly countering Lucius hard stare. "I followed Dumbledore, because he was the only one who could protect me from both Voldemort and the ministry."

Lucius nodded. He would have liked to say that he would have kept his friend safe. But really, he didn't know if he would have been able to. Once he had fallen from grace he hadn't even been able to protect his own son from the Dark Lord's wrath. Severus had been the one to do that.

"But what you have to understand, Severus, is that a Submissive is a source of power that may not ever fall into the hands of another family. Not if there is only this one. No, hear me out!" Lucius bid, lifting one of his hands to silence the potions master.

"During his transformation his magical core expanded. It is like a solid sphere, Severus, and now the content has been used to form the surface of a larger sphere, a hollow one, leaving him with practically no magic to use for now. Once he has had enough time to rest and fill it up again, though, he will be an incredibly powerful wizard! And once he has mated, some of this power will be used to form and feed a unique bond to his mates that will allow them to access and use that magic, shifting it from one to the other at will. Power-wise they will be stronger than even the Dark Lord and Grindlewald together, Severus! That is why dark and light lords both have always tried to kill off mated submissives, using whatever they could think of: poison, traps, anything. Even Vykélari dominants tended to murder submissives who were either unwilling to mate or already mated. That is why they became extinct, Severus, for ten long generations!"

Thoughtfully Severus stared at the blond man. "You just don't want him mated to someone outside your family and have to deal with a new, powerful enemy."

Lucius nodded gravely, his eyes blazing as he answered "I'd rather see him dead."

"And then don't forget the prestige and influence the Malfoys would gain" Cygnus spoke up, looking enthralled by the possibilities and a little bit wistful at not being alive to actually witness everything. "Mordred, Prince, with the help of the young submissive and his betrothed and some good advisors at his side…" at that point he winked at Lucius and Severus "… our Draco could literally overrun the ministry!"

Severus shook his head. "And this is where you underestimate Potter. He won't allow himself to be used thusly. Damn Gryffindor attitude."

"We'll see, Severus, we'll see. For now we have to help Draco and Blaise _woo_ The Submissive, but I really can't find any useful information on the subject in the whole library…"

"Lucius" Cygnus drawled "You are a bitter disappointment. You have a gallery of portraits of your ancestors. One Vykélari after the other. And you are trying to find their diaries instead of asking them?"

At least Lucius had the decency to blush.

* * *

Hermione would never have thought that she'd ever have to return to the very place that she had been tortured in by Bellatrix Lestrange. Nevertheless, she now stood here in front of the dark building, willingly waiting for someone to come and allow them entrance. It would probably be a House Elf. But she couldn't bring herself to care right now.

"I hate this house." She whispered to no one in particular and felt Ron take her hand, squeezing it reassuringly for a moment.

"You don't have to do this, 'Mione." Ron said quietly. "No one expects you to."

"I know." Hermione smiled weakly at the redhead. "But it's Harry."  
And really, that would have been reason enough; that no one else seemed to be willing to help them, was just another.

When they had rushed to the spell damage floor in St. Mungo's after Harry had fallen unconscious, the healers had taken Harry's still form and carried him away and they hadn't been allowed to follow. Quite upset and angry, Hermione bit her lips as she remembered the healer who had only stayed long enough to recite a speech that sounded suspiciously memorized about how they would find out what had happened to Harry and help him, before rushing off.  
From then on they hadn't been told anything at all but the healers and mediwizards who rushed past them seemed to get more and more agitated with the hour. Hermione had been so busy trying to console Ginny that she hadn't noticed the grave expressions they wore, but in retrospect, she should have noticed that it hadn't been looking too good for her friend.

When Malfoy and Zabini had arrived, all of them had been too tired, too frustrated to ask many questions, but their presence, too, should have been suspicious: after all they hadn't looked at all as if they were in need of the healers on the spell damage floor and they had been welcomed as if consulted by the healers themselves.

And then the very same healer who was responsible for Harry had lead them away into the very same direction they had taken their friend.  
In hindsight it was so obvious! They should have known something weird was going on, should have protested more fiercely when they were sent home, threatened with the hospital's security shouldn't they comply.

Of course they had returned early in the morning the next day but only after hours of nagging had one of the mediwizards taken pity on them and had told them that Harry James Potter was no longer within the wards of St. Mungo's.

It had been a second full of nothingness: no sound, no feeling, nothing. Hermione would even have sworn that her heart hadn't beaten either.

Then it had gone downhill from there: The Weasley men had gone berserk, Ginny and Molly had wept and ranted and Hermione had remembered.  
Remembered Malfoy.

It had taken some time until Fred, George and Ron had stopped harassing the hospital staff for information and she had managed to get them to the Auror office.

But the Auror's hadn't helped them either: the head of the Auror department himself, a bulky man with the name Henderson, had told them that they had already been contacted by the Hospital and by the one who was currently caring for Harry Potter. With many words he assured them that the Chosen One was well and safe but he made it clear that his location was to remain secret.  
Nothing they did or threatened him with had changed his mind on that decision and in the end they had had no choice but to leave and apparate to Malfoy Manor in the vague hope of finding Harry there.

It had seemed to be a good idea at the time they had apparated, too.

Now, though, Hermione was not so sure.

Apprehensively she gazed over to her companions who looked as stubborn and determined as ever. Molly kept clenching and unclenching her fists repeatedly and the twins gripped their wands so tightly that their knuckles were white. Ginny's eyes still glistened with tears, but she seemed angry now, determined to bring down whatever had taken her ex- and future-boyfriend away from her.  
Ron was still watching her with silent concern, rubbing her hand soothingly and Arthur … Arthur looked like a rock, tall and calm and unmoveable as he gazed steadily at each of them.

"Hold yourselves back!" He said. "We have no right to be here since the Auror department told us in no unclear terms to back off. And please, let me do the talking."

They all nodded, only nodded. Hermione didn't think the others really felt like talking, God knew, she didn't. But she followed Arthur stubbornly as he made the rest of the way over to the Manor on that path of stones that were mocking them with their innocent whiteness. Together they climbed the steps to the front door and Arthur took hold of the doorknocker, pounding it thrice against the metal plate on the door.

For long moments, nothing happened. Then, the large door slid open, revealing a small House Elf with huge, glowing eyes that seemed to bulge from their sockets. She wore a white, clean pillowcase that looked to be of a much finer cloth than House Elves usually wore and a curtain cord that was bound around her waist gave the thing actually something like a decent shape.  
"Yes?" She cheeped after looking them over in a disparaging way that she must have copied from her mistress.

"We would like to speak to your master." Arthur said only a little bit tensely.

"Master Malfoy is telling Valett he is not seeing guests tonight. Valett is sorry. You be leaving a message for Master Malfoy and Valett will be sure to deliver it." That was unacceptable! Ginny stepped forward, intending to give the Elf a piece of her mind and force it to get her master if necessary, but she was interrupted by a soft female voice that came from behind the Elf.  
"It is fine, Valett."  
The woman drawled and the door opened a little bit more to reveal the tall, proud figure of Narcissa Malfoy, wearing an elegant long dress of dark, almost black silk.  
"I was expecting these guests." She smirked as she looked at them from between hooded lashes.

"Then you know why we came." Molly hissed, furious beyond reason that this woman could stand there so carefree and serene and admit so freely to having kidnapped their Harry, because really, why else would she expect them?

"Of course I do. I presume you went to the Aurors?"

"Where is Harry?" Arthur asked directly but calmly, staring at her challengingly.

"He is safe, Mr. Weasley, as Mr. Henderson undoubtedly told you. But for his safety it is also imperative that no one learns of his current location." Narcissa smiled sweetly at them, but so obviously feigned, it was sickening.

"We are Harry's family!" One of the twins seethed "We would never do anything to endanger him! Stop playing around and tell us where he is!"

"Fred!" Arthur hissed, grabbing his son's shoulder tightly to restrain him. God, everything depended on the goodwill of the woman in front of them. They could do nothing to help if she didn't tell them where Harry was.  
"Mrs. Malfoy," he said imploringly "please tell us where he is! The last thing he said right before collapsing was 'something is taking my magic'! We only need to know what happened and that he is fine. Where is he?"

The muscles in Narcissa's jaw tightened, but she didn't budge "I can't…"

"If you won't tell us, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione spoke up, her voice dangerously pleasant "I'm sure that we can find a reporter who would be more than delighted to write about the curious circumstances under which the Saviour of the Wizarding World disappeared."

Narcissa huffed, but then she smirked a little bit and cocked her head. "Well then, I might as well explain. Valett, wine in the arbour."  
And with that she stepped forward, gathering her dress. "It is such a beautiful night, let us speak in the garden." But from the way she pulled the front door to the Manor close behind her, it was obvious that she merely didn't wish Blood Traitors to pollute her home.

Only half an hour later the Weasley family left, shocked to the core: Harry was a Vykélari, a submissive Vykélari.  
Of course, the redheads knew about them. Had heard of them. And Arthur at least knew the laws: a dominant was allowed to abduct a submissive he intended to mate and the location was allowed to be hidden from anyone, even the authorities, because Vykélari were so rare and usually a fight for the favour of a submissive was a fight to the death. Not to mention that the submissive himself would be in danger of being killed by rejected suitors.

That Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini had kidnapped Harry could only mean that they intended to mate him. And there was nothing either Hermione or one of the Weasleys could do about it.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I hope you liked the chapter, even if Harry, Blaise or Draco didn't make an appearance.

Let me know what you think!


	7. The First Attempt

**CHAPTER 7: The First Attempt**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you very, very much for reviewing and adding Night Flight to your alerts or favourites! If I am correct, then 387 people are currently reading this story, which is really great, but nonetheless makes me kind of nervous… ;-)  
Anyway, I am really elated that so many of you like this story and your input after the last chapter was really wonderful!

Well, enjoy, hopefully!

* * *

Harry stormed through the corridors of Lanai Manor with anger spurred steps, throwing furious and at the same time apprehensive glances back to the light-filled door that led to the garden he had just left.

He was livid. How dare they? How dare they even think for a moment that he would let them cage him? Who did they think they were, setting rules like that and thinking he would obey them like a good little first year Hufflepuff?

'Or a good little _submissive_ mate…' supplied a part of his mind that Harry really didn't care to listen to right now.

But nonetheless the thought made him nervous as he acutely felt his wand's absence in his hand - or his pocket for that matter. There were two crazed, armed Slytherins intending to mate with him in the garden he had just left and he had no means to really fight them off. Oh, he knew a little bit wandless magic but he still felt depleted where his magic was concerned and they would still be advantageous to him. Only willing his bloody wings away earlier had left him tired!

Merlin, how he wished he could just rip them off and be done with the whole matter! But he doubted that would accomplish anything but make him bleed to death, with his luck.

No, he was completely and utterly at the mercy of Draco bloody Malfoy and that skunk Blaise Zabini (who, after his pretentious performance a few minutes ago, was definitely on his hit list), which just strengthened his resolve: he needed to get out of this manor and away from them before they decided to … to what exactly?

Harry couldn't finish the thought, and that made him pause in his steps and frown for a moment. He really didn't know their intentions. He hadn't even stayed long enough to listen to what they wanted from him, what they wanted to do with him, the only thing Harry remembered was that Zabini had said something about not forcing him… more along the lines of teaching and protecting him.  
He bit his lips as his mind played over his short conversation with the two Slytherins. They had flirted with him openly, which had been quite a new experience for Harry and left him feeling uncomfortable around them and yet it had also raised a nervous flutter in his stomach at the same time that was not all that bad, though very much humiliating. But still they hadn't touched him inappropriately in any way and although especially Draco had made the one or the other biting remark, they had been generally suave.

Absentmindedly Harry's fingers ghosted over the artfully painted wall - a mixture of different warm shades of terracotta, oranges and gold that had been applied with a palette knife to form an intriguing play of colours and textures - while thinking over his possible lines of action.  
Should he go back, maybe, and demand that they explain themselves? In a way, they had been forthcoming and helpful during the last 24 hours. But Harry could neither forget nor ignore the way Zabini had tried to lord his bloody rules over him and the way Malfoy had smirked at him, confident of his victory over the Boy-Who-Lived at last… they had probably only pretended to be nice. Even if they had been honest: the two Slytherins had still kidnapped him and refused to bring him back home when he had wished to leave. No, Harry definitely didn't want to go back to them after all of that.

As he stood there, his intense green gaze glided over an open door to his left, just in passing, and if not for the flickering light of an open fire catching his attention, he would not have looked twice.

Subconsciously he made a step towards the door, intrigued. This was an Italian summer: hot and dry; and that meant that this fire was not lit for the purpose of warming.  
Harry looked around cautiously, ensuring that he was still unwatched and alone. Of course, it was always difficult to notice a House Elf who didn't want to be seen, but unless Zabini had told them to watch him, Harry was sure that they would be too polite not to announce themselves. After all, Zabini had ordered them to treat him like an honoured guest, like a Zabini. Afterwards, the Slytherin had dismissed his servants immediately, so Harry was relatively sure he would have heard it if his 'host' had given such orders.

No one was there…

His heart beating madly in his chest, Harry snuck towards the light, careful to not make a sound as he glimpsed into the room.  
It was a study, as large and as elegant as the rest of the manor, with a high ceiling and wide windows, the walls covered with extensive bookshelves. In the centre there stood a large L-shaped desk made of a dark, rich wood with a slightly red hue and adorned with paler inlays and silver ornaments. A black, imposing office chair was behind it, providing such a huge contrast to the set of light chairs in its front that any guest seated there would have to feel disadvantaged to the study's owner.

It didn't interest Harry, not really, though he generally disliked such power plays. His eyes only hushed over the luxurious furnishings and rested for a moment on the burning fireplace that seemed to be magically partitioned off from the rest of the room as it was not radiating any warmth.  
Then his gaze settled on the wide, curved windows behind the desk on the opposite side of the room, flooding it with golden sunlight. They overlooked the garden he had just left and, as the room itself was parterre, it was unfortunately at the same level with the terrace where Zabini, Malfoy, and himself had just partaken of their noon meal - or not quite, seeing as Harry had left before really eating much; a shame, that. The fruits had been delicious and he was still hungry…

Harry shook off that thought and ducked down to hide himself. It would not do to be seen in this study next to a fireplace that was obviously connected to Italy's Floo Network. That is, if he hadn't already been discovered. Perhaps slightly paranoid, the Gryffindor took the chance to reassure himself that his captors had not followed him. This was his one chance to flee, and he wouldn't let his escape be thwarted by his own rashness…

His heart leaped victoriously as he spotted them a moment later. There, at the small tessellation table – right as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if they had not just officially made their former classmate into their captive – sat Malfoy and Zabini, lounging in their respective chairs like big cats so graceful it made Harry envious for but a second.

They had not followed him then; obviously, they didn't take his threats seriously. Well, Harry huffed, he'd teach them!  
It galled him how they could appear so easy in their mind about all of this, more than he cared to admit at the moment, and he balled his fists, watching and fuming as Malfoy's pale form shifted forward on his chair until he sat on the very edge. What was he doing…?

He really should be going, Harry thought idly. He should go on with his plan and search the floo powder that must be somewhere close and flee. But he hesitated for a moment, curiosity getting the better of him - though curiosity about what, Harry really couldn't tell; maybe it was just some kind of sick fascination.

Regardless of the reason, his attention was caught by the hungry look on Malfoy's face as he stared at Zabini, who had his back turned to Harry. It was the same fierce and yet lewd look that had been directed at him, not so long ago, Harry remembered, worrying his lower lip at the queasy feeling in his stomach.

It was odd, really, that those two Slytherins of all people had been the ones to look at him as if he was beautiful and desirable. Harry had never exactly been the target of someone's desire; he wasn't handsome, not like Cedric had been, not like Zabini and Malfoy were.

Sure, Ginny loved him – and he loved her back, cared for her more than he cared for anyone else (except Hermione and Ron) – but there was not much passion between them, he mused. Not that he found anything to be amiss with his and Ginny's relationship; he assured himself a moment later. It was just that, seeing the two predators in front of him made him realise that this was something he'd never have with her. Which, he told himself, was okay, right?

Yet still, he kept on watching, caught now, unable to move his gaze away.

Harry didn't notice how his breath quickened as he watched the blonde take a small sip from that golden, wonderful liquid before leaning towards his lover languidly, beckoning him closer. Long, elegant fingers wound around Zabini's neck, the darker skin a beautiful contrast to the paleness of Malfoy's hand, and he was all fluid movements, all liquid grace, and Harry had to envy that, too. With a sudden jerk, the blond tilted his lover's head backwards and to the side and now Harry could see their mouths battling against each other, smudged with golden liquid. One drop ran down Blaise's – no, Zabini's jaw; strong and squared and Harry gulped and held his breath, cursing that damned accurate sight that made him notice the small tremors of Zabini's back and arms and the way his lips opened to release a silent moan that Harry could not hear through the closed windows. It made him see Malfoy's half-lidded eyes as he swooped down, his tongue flicking out to catch the evasive drop. His mouth fastened on his lover's skin, nipping, biting, licking, sucking, teasing and Harry wondered for the split of a second what it would feel like… drowning in the passion of another and surrendering to it…

Before he knew it, a small whimper escaped his lips, startling him almost as bad as the first chirp he had emitted after regaining his sense of hearing. He jumped up, horrified at how his pants seemed to have tightened. That was so not going to happen! Harry would _not_ allow it, not with someone who had proven he couldn't be trusted; No, Harry needed to get away, he _had to_, and fast! Before he did something really stupid.

Frantically Harry looked around, his eyes rushing over the smooth surface of the chimney piece. Yes! There stood a small, silver box with rich ornaments right on top of it, so prominently that one couldn't miss it. Quickly, he stepped towards it, and with no thought to curses or traps that might be ingrained in the tin, he grabbed it, opened the delicate deadlock and flicked the lid open.  
A wave of relief flooded Harry as he saw the glittery, silver powder and – not missing a beat – he took a handful and threw it into the red-hot embers. Instinctively, he averted his face as the fire blazed up and turned to emerald green flames.

"Now where to?" Harry asked himself aloud urgently. He knew that the Floo Network didn't permit travels between countries, so he couldn't name an English address, and, just his luck, he thought bitterly, he knew not a single address in Italy. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the flames.

'Somewhere' would have to do then. From his first floo experience, Harry knew that he would end up at an address that sounded similarly at least. Merlin, he hoped there would be someone able and willing to help him…

As he turned towards the room again so he wouldn't fall backwards out of the chimney at his travel destination, he almost stumbled, his heart missing a beat. Outside on the terrace, Malfoy and Zabini had just stood, and they stared at him, their expressions screaming 'don't you dare!' at him more clearly than the words would ever have been able to.  
Harry smirked almost gleefully. They were too late.

And he could almost convince himself that his voice shook with relief as he started to murmur the word that would get him away to "Some-"

"_Stupefy!_"

Harry had no time to be surprised before the red beam of light hit him and his vision went black as he crumbled into the harmless emerald flames.

* * *

Draco shook his head as he watched the Gryffindor storm away from their noon table. Really, a Gryffindor who fled from a confrontation? This was definitely one for the books!

"Great…" Blaise murmured behind him and Draco turned just as his fiancé sat down again with a self-mocking smile. "He didn't handle that quite as well as I had hoped he would."

Draco sighed, walking back to his own chair and pulling it a little bit closer to Blaise's before sitting down himself. "Maybe because _we_ didn't handle that quite as well as I hoped we would. But really, I didn't expect him to make the connection so early… or so easily for that matter."

Blaise looked up sharply. Yes, that mistake had been Draco's.

But sooner or later, Harry would have found out anyway, and really, Blaise didn't understand why Potter had made such a fuss about it. Hadn't he told him that they didn't intend to force him to mate? Hadn't Potter understood that he wouldn't be safe on his own? That he would need adult Vykélari to teach him, protect him, even hide him?

Granted, he and Draco didn't really know that much about submissives aside from the fact that they were very powerful and very desired. It had never been an issue after all as they had never expected to actually _meet_ one… Still, even they had read about the high fatality rate of submissives and that was certainly not due to natural occurrences.

Moreover, Draco still owed the brat a life-debt. One that had been acknowledged and accepted which meant that the debt would only be settled if Potter _said_ it was.  
Had Draco not acknowledged the life debt, his magic would have compelled him to repay it in some way or another until it was satisfied and often such things happened in the most unfortunate situations. Therefore purebloods had made a tradition of acknowledging debts of many kinds and having them be accepted by their benefactors. It created a kind of bond between the wizards, fed and ruled by their magic until such a time as the acceptor declared the debt settled. It calmed the debtor's magic so that both parties had more control of the situation.  
It was frowned upon not to acknowledge a debt just as much as it was frowned upon not to accept it. Only purebloods still honoured that age-old tradition, however; a mud-blood or a half-blood would not be expected to do the same, even though purebloods did in the reverse cases; in the rare situations that they owed someone who was not from their circles.

Idly, Blaise wondered if Potter knew that he could ask for quite literally anything short of taking a life - Draco's or someone else's. Probably not, or he would have used the debt to make them give him a portkey back to Britain.  
Well, he certainly wasn't going to tell him; it was in no way his fault that the Gryffindor hadn't bothered to read up on traditions that concerned him.

Where had he left off, again? Ah, yes. Potter's incredible luck with blind guesses… "It really wasn't your fault, Draco. This was something he had to learn eventually. Personally, I think that it was the combination of flirting and the news that he is a submissive while we are both dominant Vykélari that freaked him out."

Draco chuckled lowly. "Ah yes, I know: pulling out his chair for him. Really Blaise?"

"Oh, so leading him to the table like a fragile gentlewoman was any less conspicuous?" Blaise retorted, his lips curled into a sultry, gently mocking smile; but his eyes were gleaming.

Draco's probably did, too, but he hid his amusement by lowering his gaze. "All but telling him to accompany us with nothing but some light silken pyjama trousers…" he murmured, his voice soft as silk.

"Leering at him as if you wanted to devour him whole… did you want to?" Blaise cocked his head as he asked the question, wondering if his fiancé would be honest or if he would try to evade, make excuses. For some moment of silence it seemed that he would.

"He _is_ powerful." Draco said at last, cocking his head at his fiancé with fallacious calmness. No one could deny that; even now Potter's magic started to recover and he couldn't wait until it would dance around the oblivious Gryffindor and play tricks on a spectator's eyes.  
He couldn't help it: power was attractive. Draco knew Blaise understood that.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help it either to feel as if he was reaching for some forbidden fruit.

"Yes, that he is." Blaise agreed. "And handsome. But is that enough to court the trouble he will undoubtedly present us with?"

"Are we doing that?"

"It sure as hell looked like it." Blaise smiled lazily, his black eyes assessing the platinum blond.

Draco smiled back, enjoying himself in that weird way. "I think it looked more like a game."  
It hadn't been, both of them knew that. Their desire towards the black-haired, green-feathered young Vykélari had been honest, but that didn't mean that they had to act on it. They were not mindless, instinct-blinded fools after all and they wouldn't allow their inheritance to rule them.  
Teasing the innocent little thing had been enjoyable, though, and definitely something that Draco could become accustomed to. Potter's reactions were simply delicious.

"He is a Gryffindor, he probably won't be able to tell the difference." Blaise said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And as he is a powerful wizard it might be dangerous to lead him on. We should decide, Dragon: either we humour our parents and try to seduce him into mating with us, or we stay away from him for good, allow him to leave, maybe subtly get him to use the life-debt to 'escape' us… no strings would stay between us and him…"  
That would probably be more than easy: they could simply get a House-Elf to tell Potter about it and have it play the teary-eyed, self-destructive family-traitor… Potter would believe he had won and call in the life debt to get home. After all, the Gryffindor had experience with house elves that acted against their masters.

Of course, their parents would be furious if they didn't claim the submissive for themselves and really, it somewhat went against everything a Slytherin believed in to let such a chance at power and influence go by. If they didn't claim Potter and the enhancement in prestige, influence and power that he would bring, someone else would. Another pureblood family that might even rise above the Malfoys and Zabinis in consequence.  
But they would be happy. Blaise knew he and Draco worked well together, they loved each other and they were very much alike. It was enough, wasn't it? Even though their rare disagreements could become rather violent sometimes - not in a physical way - and even though sex between them was more a satisfying battle than lovemaking. A very satisfying battle, though.

During Blaise's musings, Draco seemed to have reached a decision of his own. One that contented him very much from the look of it.

"Whatever we decide" he almost purred "I want to kiss him at least once when his magic is in full bloom."

"You want to kiss him." Blaise deadpanned and cocked an eyebrow at the unusual bluntness of his fiancé. Really, he couldn't decide if he should be offended, jealous or amused. Something of everything, he guessed. Damn it, it wasn't as if he himself didn't want to taste Potter's lips, the touch of his magic…

A lazy grin broke out on Draco's face and he licked his lips, his eyes burning as he stared at his fiancé, his lover. "Do you want to know why?" he murmured huskily as he leaned forward.

Blaise chuckled lowly and rolled his shoulders. He could feel his own wings press against the skin of his back, wanting to show themselves, flaunt the blazing tones of bronze, copper and gold to seduce the being in front of him. But Draco wouldn't like that. As a dominant his instincts would tell him that the other male was challenging him, and though Draco would know at heart that that wasn't true, the mood would be destroyed beyond reclaim.  
It had already happened more than once; on both boys' parts.

So they always kept a tight rein on their instincts and Blaise was left arching his shoulder blades instead of releasing his wings to erupt from his back.

Well, better that then giving up the minx in front of him.

"By all means…" Blaise said with a smirk and an elaborate hand gesture that could mean anything or nothing at all "Show me if you can!"

Draco accepted the challenge immediately with another lewd smirk. Languidly his right hand reached out to get a hold of his glass with the Hesperides' Nectar and without taking his lust-filled eyes off his lover, he guided the cold, golden liquid to his lips and took a small sip.

Blaise bit his lips and hummed appreciatively as he saw that the platinum blonde was not about to swallow. They had played such games before, but never with that special treat.  
From half-lidded eyes he watched as Draco beckoned him forwards and he obliged just as his lover leaned towards him, too.

Draco kissed him, pressed his lips against his and his long fingers - he had the hands of an artist, Blaise always thought - twined around the back of his head, ran through his thick, black hair, stroking, massaging. He moaned at the feeling and opened his mouth to receive the golden liquid that Draco poured into his mouth, pressed against his waiting tongue with seductive movements.

The heady, exotic taste exploded on his tongue, the prickling of the magic that had sustained the tree from which the ripe fruits had been taken rushing through him. The liquid was as thick as mango juice, as persistent and as velvety in its texture. Draco's tongue followed immediately, mapping the line of his teeth, delving deeper, dancing against his own, with his own. One of them moaned, Blaise couldn't be sure who, but it didn't matter anyway. Still, those lithe fingers stroked over his neck, up and down, alternating between feathery softness and insistent pressure.

The feeling was so much more dizzying due to the magic swirling through the Nectar, its presence not diminishing even after Blaise had swallowed. Draco's taste was there, too, somewhere, inextricably entwined with the golden juice. He moaned into the kiss and brought his own hands up to cup his lover's cheek and pull him closer as pleasure pooled in his groin and his trousers tightened.

A drop ran down his chin towards the line of his jaw and Draco was there, his tongue following the precious liquid. Then he was sucking at his skin, maybe hunting for that rich taste that must have mixed with the one of his own skin. Teeth grazed him, bit him, followed by soothing licks, sucking lips…  
Blaise groaned as he buried his hands in the blond silky hair, still marvelling at the sensations of pleasure mixing with magic. His eyes fluttered close. By Morgaine, he would have to buy more of that stuff…

He wished that Draco was closer, and as he was about to pull the other from his chair and into his lap, the blond stiffened and moved away.

When Blaise opened his eyes inquiringly and a little bit annoyed, Draco was already standing, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing and burning with bafflement and anger as he stared at some point behind the darker Italian.  
Blaise turned around and his eyes were immediately drawn to the quick and sudden movement in his study that was easily visible from their position in the garden: a flash of ultraviolet and of shimmering green feathers. Potter.

He rushed to his feet while next to him Draco stepped forward unconsciously. "Don't you dare!" he hissed, uncaring that the Gryffindor wouldn't be able to hear him. It was obvious what Potter was up to, the way he was searching the area around the chimney. The floo connected chimney.

And damn it, the room was warded against apparition … except for the house elves.  
"Alfar!" Blaise shouted and immediately there was a loud crack and a comparatively tall elf stood before him, bowing so low his chubby nose touched the stones of the patio. His ears quivered at the furious tone in his master's voice.

Blaise didn't care nor pay attention to it. He pointed towards the wide windows of his study where Potter was just opening his box with floo powder. "Stop Potter!" He ordered, his voice like steel, hard and cold.  
The elf - Alfar - looked up for a moment, his eyes twinkling with the prospect of serving his master; but neither Blaise nor Draco noticed it for at that very moment emerald green light flared in the room. Potter had thrown the floo powder into the fire…

Draco strode forward as if he would shatter the windows and storm the fifty metres towards Potter within the three seconds it would take the Gryffindor to vanish. Blaise followed closely.

They didn't notice the loud crack behind them as Alfar vanished, because Potter stepped into the flames that were now licking harmlessly at his legs and the man turned, his eyes widening as he saw them.

He recovered quickly though and then a smirk played around his lips in the fallacious knowledge that he was already safe. And then his lips were moving and Draco could have sworn that his heart missed a beat and Blaise all but ran forward.

A flash of red light lit the spacious study, hitting the black haired man in the chest and Potter started to crumble to the ground. Within a moment though, he was levitated away from the chimney and the magical fire that had almost allowed him to flee.

Almost.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I at least enjoyed writing it…  
Though I am sorry that the end is maybe a little bit dissatisfying. I didn't have much time during the last week and didn't get to write more. Sorry. Hopefully next week I'll be able to update a longer chapter…

And remember that reviews are always welcome!


	8. Rejected Inheritance

**CHAPTER 8: Rejected Inheritance**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you so much for all the reviews (I really, really enjoyed reading those)! And for adding Night Flight to your Story Alerts or Favorites. This story has now 465 readers, you guys are awesome, really!  
And I am so, so sorry for the long wait. First I was kind of traumatized due to a video I saw at university containing three hermaphroditic sea snails trailing each other, biting chunks out of each other's asses and trying to stab each other with their thorn covered penises in the attempt to impregnate each other. That is called traumatic mating, and really, it is traumatic. I really couldn't continue writing on a threesome after that ;-)  
And then last week my little nephew was born and there were complications during the birth and he was only yesterday released from hospital.  
So, I hope you'll forgive me!

* * *

"Well done, Alfar." Blaise praised with a curt nod towards the diligent House-Elf as he and Draco entered the study and strode up to Harry's unconscious form that was lying on the carpet in front of the still burning fireplace - a sign that Alfar, too, was a little bit miffed with their ill-mannered, defiant guest, or else he would have conjured him something more comfortable to rest on. Which was quite alright, since Blaise himself wasn't too pleased with the little nuisance either, right now.

Quietly the pair stepped past the preening House Elf and came to a halt in front of the dark haired young Vykélari, gazing down at his face that looked so deceptively innocent in the relaxed state of his magic-enforced sleep. He was not; it would indeed be foolish to think him innocent after the war he had been forced to fight.

"Incarcerous" Blaise intoned, his voice steady and calm, belying the anger he felt. Ropes slithered forward, encompassing and tightly binding the still unmoving body of that foolish Gryffindor. That stupid Gryffindor. That damn impulsive Gryffindor who couldn't even obey the rules for ten minutes! Ten. Bloody. Minutes.

He didn't allow himself to ponder what might have happened if Draco hadn't looked up at that very moment or if Alfar hadn't been just in time. He didn't _want_ to think about what would have happened to the foolish boy. There were many fireplaces in Italy that one would not want to stumble out of, especially one as naïve and inexperienced as Potter, one who didn't know anything about the local wizarding communities, not to mention the fucking language! One who didn't know how easy it was to make a body vanish silently and without a trace.  
Harry Potter was not a name that held much importance in Italy, a country where 'dark' was not necessarily 'evil'. A country where your bloodline was worth more than your money.

Damn it, didn't he ever _think_?

Obviously not! The idiot had never even contemplated the consequences of his actions, too busy challenging the two wizards that were able and willing to help him. They would have to have a serious conversation with that prat before he got himself bloody hurt! And considering the rate with which he brought himself into dangerous situations that meant right now.  
The ropes, though he definitely didn't like seeing them on the other man's body, would ensure that Harry stayed long enough this time to hear them out.

"Ennervate!"

At their feet the foolish thing blinked his eyes open, those eyes that without the hideous glasses were of a stunning, almost unnatural green, that seemed even more so due to the mask of pale ultraviolet and the dark green lines that framed them. Harry shook his head once as if to clear it before he took in his surroundings with one quick glance around the room and then glared at the two Slytherins above him with a truly venomous expression.

Blaise allowed one corner of his mouth to raise even though he was not amused, in no way, but he knew it would irritate the raven and that in itself would make him feel better. Besides, he knew Draco was smirking next to him for some reason or another, and it was better to present a united front against Gryffindor stupidity. Come to think of it, his fiancé had been smirking silently since shortly after Alfar had hunted down Potter.  
He was probably elated at having his former rival at his mercy, not that Blaise would fault him for that, he guessed it must be a rather elevating experience after all those lost endeavours and defeats. But then again, Draco had admitted to his lover how much it had infuriated him to see his school enemy bound and helpless and afraid lying on that hospital bed in St Mungo's, so maybe it was something different altogether.

Anyway, it was probably of no importance right now; there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Encountering Potter's intense glare calmly for a moment longer, Blaise flicked his wand at the two guest chairs in front of his desk, levitating them close for himself and Draco.

"Untie me!" Potter demanded with a growl as he noticed that his captors intended to have him lie at their feet while they sat down.

"I think not, Harry." Draco murmured with a silky smile, positioning the chair to his liking close to Potter's head and taking his seat. "Not after the stunt you pulled right now."  
Draco really could have admitted that he liked their respective positions, it was obvious, Blaise thought as he himself sat down also. He might not like to cage another Vykélari, but he definitely enjoyed getting the better of Harry for once.  
Languidly Blaise leaned back against the comfort of his arm chair and folded his hands in front of him, elbows propped up on the arm rests, watching, because he knew the silence would be hard to bear for Harry.

Harry, whose eyes flashed so furiously, who snarled at them defiantly but who refused to give them the satisfaction of a futile fight. Who only laid there, waiting with anger and apprehension warring on his pale and yet beautiful face.  
Harry, who was so infuriatingly insubordinate, who refused to bow, who gave no thought to danger and valued his freedom more than his life.

* * *

Draco in the meantime was oblivious to his fiancé's irritation as he sat down on his own chair with crossed legs, leaning on one arm rest only, the index finger of his propped up arm idly wandering over his lower lip. Gods, he had felt so elated the moment he had seen through the wide windows how the red light filled the study, hitting Potter and knocking him out. No, not elated … _alive_!  
How he had missed this, the battles, the challenges, the competition that were uniquely Harry Potter. Blaise and he - they had always been allies, comrades in arms if you will, they had never earnestly tried to compete aside from their usual, little games, and those didn't _mean_ anything besides offering entertainment. They were partners. And all the other Slytherins that had surrounded him during their time at Hogwarts had never challenged him due to the simple power of his surname and the money that came with it  
Potter - Harry - was someone to best, someone to conquer. Someone exciting, exciting enough to offer enough diversion for him and Blaise for a lifetime and then some.

Mordred was he glad that his crossed legs were hiding his growing erection. It wouldn't do to scare the skittish creature further. The beautiful thing, even though he was obviously scared, even though the ropes looked so _wrong_ on him.

Draco frowned at that for a moment before he managed to convince his lips into a smile. He would hopefully not wear them for long anyway. "You know, Harry, you really should have stayed to talk about this further. You, sweet, have no idea about the mess your inheritance has gotten you into."

Harry's eyes widened at hearing the endearment and he shifted back a little bit, as much as he could with the restricting ropes encompassing his body and without being too obvious. It was endearing, really, Draco had to grant him as much.

"Untie me! Now!"

Draco chuckled and leaned forward to brush the tips of his fingers against those sharp cheek bones, his smile faltering only a little as Harry jerked his head away. "Believe me, I don't like seeing you tied up like this, but this time you have to hear us out."

At that, Harry gave a disbelieving snort, making Draco frown at him. Before the platinum blond could defend himself, though, Blaise cut in.  
"It was dangerous what you did right there, Harry." He said almost conversationally, but his voice had a dangerous note to it and his light accent was just that little bit more pronounced. Draco straightened and looked over at his fiancé, somewhat surprised at the tone of voice that to him screamed of suppressed irritation.

Harry obviously didn't notice. "I was only about to use the floo connection!"

"And where to? Eh? What address would you have given?"

"Just 'somewhere'." Potter said, tartly. "What do you care, anyway?"

"'Somewhere'? Harry, you are not in Britain anymore! Here in Italy it is a serious offence to violate another's home by use of the floo connection. Most wizards ward the area around their fireplaces with traps, often lethal traps, that kill you the moment you step out of the fireplace without the permission of the owner."

Harry looked taken aback by that but it was impossible to tell if it was the practice itself or what might have happened to him that shocked him more. "I didn't know…"

"No, you didn't! And you didn't care, either. Harry, pureblood families are even more powerful here than they are in Britain and you are not exactly seen as a friend of pureblood values! You might have been killed and your mutilated carcass would have simply vanished with the use of the one or the other dark spell!"

"How was I to know?" Harry cried out, more to stop Blaise's ranting than anything else.  
Unsurprisingly however, it didn't really seem to impress the Italian much. "Couldn't you just obey the rules you were given for ten bloody minutes?"

"Why? Did you honestly think I would lean back and take your shit just like that?" Harry growled "How stupid are you?"

"Careful, Potter!" Blaise warned, his voice dangerously low, and his dark eyes flashed as he leaned forward to hover over Potter's lying form.

From the way he tensed it was obvious that the brunet was not unaffected by the intimidating Italian looming over him like a dark Grim, but he braved him nonetheless, even pressing himself up from the ground with some effort, a challenge flashing in his eyes.  
"What?" Harry taunted. "What will you do? You already kidnapped me! Will you torture me now, too?"

"Don't be stupid!" Blaise drawled haughtily, cocking his head "Why would we torture you? And we did not kidnap you; we took you into … preventive custody."

"Blaise." Draco admonished with an amused chuckle and laid one hand on his fiancé's upper arm to pull him back against the back rest of his chair, before turning to their unwilling guest. "I grant you that it was naïve of us to believe that the Gryffindor role-model would follow without back talk, rule-breaker that you are. But Harry, you should have known better, especially after what we told you…"

"You told me nothing but that I had to stay! You have no right to keep me here! No right to lord it over me!"

"To begin with, Harry, it is your fault that you were not given more information. If I remember correctly, you were the one to run away before we had the chance to tell you more" Draco drawled, his voice like ice, cold and hard and relentless. "So don't you dare accuse us now!"

To his right, Blaise leaned forward, almost leaving his chair "And we have _every_ right to keep you here; didn't you listen to a word we said!"

Harry turned his head away and Draco could see the sinews in his throat flexing with the effort not to shout.  
"Fuck you!" It was no more than a whisper.

From their long years of enmity in which they had always watched each other to the point of obsession, Draco knew that the Gryffindor was close to losing it. And at the same moment he realised that while he had the intimate knowledge of what words would be needed to make Harry start to shout and rant and fight his bonds, of how to arouse his fierce anger, he was completely at a loss as to how to _not_ make him do that, how to _not_ alienate him.  
That would not have bothered him as such, what concern was it of his if Potter hated them? - even though something in his throat constricted painfully at that thought - but it would be easier for all of them if Potter would stay willingly.

With an enormous effort, Draco tried to gentle his voice as he addressed the Gryffindor next. "You are a submissive, Harry, and as dominants, we _do_ have the right to…"

"I. Am. Not." A hiss, almost like Parseltongue.

"Yes you are!" Blaise said fiercely, moving down from his chair to kneel at Harry's side, forcing the brunet to look at him by grasping his chin between his strong fingers. "I can feel it even now! You have no idea of the effect of your marks! Like an aphrodisiac they are, calling out to a dominant to come and woo you, to court you: a strong and fertile submissive!"

That was more than Harry could take at that moment and his magic that had recovered a little bit over the course of the day simply reacted. He felt a little tightening in his chest like a coiled spring retracting and then an almost invisible force dashed forward out of his torso, smashing into Blaise and throwing him against the chair behind him. It was no concentrated hit, just an involuntary shove of magic and much energy was lost without taking effect. It was sufficient, though, to send both the chair and Blaise toppling over backwards with a crash and a surprised outcry from the dark skinned Italian.

"You okay?" Draco asked frantically as he immediately rushed to his fiancé's side, crouching down next to him. One of his hands stroked over the dark locks, carefully feeling for a possible head injury. He felt endlessly relieved as he found nothing aside from a small swelling that would soon become a respectable bump.  
Thank Merlin that the idiot was still magically depleted and hadn't been able to use the full force of his powers, or Blaise might have found himself squished against the walls of his own study.

"I'm okay, it's nothing." Blaise murmured, his dark, shadowed eyes trained on Harry's quivering form, whose skin was now completely bereft of the beautiful green and ultraviolet, his black locks now free of the emerald feathers that had ruffled them so endearingly.  
Damn it, he hadn't meant to push the Gryffindor into trying to reject his inheritance. And he really couldn't whitewash the fact that this was exactly what Harry was doing now: he didn't want to be a submissive Vykélari so much that his magic had taken back the physical changes of his body.

His heart missed a beat for a moment. Was it possible to reject your inheritance? Could Potter simply ignore the changes he had gone through? What if he just never transformed again, never allowed himself to use more of his powerful magic or even had a specialist put a block on it?

The first submissive in so long a time and he rejected the essence of what he now was wholeheartedly. And it was the fault of their poor judgement and domineering behaviour.

* * *

Harry felt nauseous, the kind of nausea that suffocates a person after too much labour in the hot summer sun, the body overheating from a mixture of overexertion, too few fluids and salts and the cruel heat. Harry knew that feeling intimately unfortunately, the garden work back at his aunt's and uncle's often being too strenuous for his half-starved body.

He really wanted to vomit, but god, he knew from experience that this wouldn't make him feel better.

Oh, he had known it would be a bad idea, the moment his magic surged forwards but he had been unable to control it … it had just happened. Harry really hadn't meant to hurt the Slytherin, regardless of what the bastard had said.  
"'M sorry." He slurred his speech, his mouth not cooperating in the way he wanted it to and he watched apprehensively as both Draco's and Blaise's hazy forms rushed over to him. God, his head hurt so much and why was his vision so blurry again?

"It's okay, Harry." Blaise murmured soothingly while once again, Draco cut away the bindings from his body. It was a relief when his arms came free and weren't pressed to his uncomfortably hot torso any longer, retaining the warmth further that seemed to smother his body.  
He closed his eyes as blessedly cool fingers soothed the heated skin on his forehead, brushing away his unruly fringe. That felt nice.

"Nothing is okay!" Draco exclaimed angrily and a moment later Harry opened his heavy eyelids to see the pale blond head appearing in his field of vision and he squinted his eyes groggily to see more clearly and be able to gauge the blonde's expression. Not good. It was certainly not good when Draco Malfoy showed his anger so openly, Harry knew that he had learned how to mask his feelings, how to lie and pretend, acting from necessity during the war. Absentmindedly Harry thought that it must have been horrible to have a bunch of lunatics in his own home, lead by a sadistic, unforgiving madman.  
"Wandless magic is not to be taken lightly especially in your state. Do you _want_ to die?"

Since it seemed to be a rhetoric question anyway and he felt too tired to answer, Harry kept his silence and laid still. Draco was such a drama queen, honestly, thinking Harry would die from that single bout of accidental magic; Harry might have told him that, too, had his skull not felt as if someone as powerful as Dumbledore himself had cast _Expulso_ on it.  
Coming to think of it, vomiting seemed to be not that bad an idea. But then again, he would have to move to get rid of his stomach's content and that was definitely not a good idea…

"Your magic is still bleeding out." Draco grumbled above him, the anger in his voice and expression oddly contrasting with the gentleness of his fingers as they moved to cup Harry's painfully tense neck.  
For a moment Harry wondered if he should tell the git to take his hands off his body, but after a moment's contemplation that didn't seem worth the effort it would take him to form the words. And it started to feel … better: Harry had no idea what the two Slytherins were doing but gradually the overheated feeling of his skin receded until the aching of his muscles was at least bearable and the nausea a mere echo. A relieved sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes again, enjoying the remission of his pain.

That, however, soon made him qualmishly aware of the feathery caresses of their fingers that they still bestowed upon his face. Harry had never been a friend of close bodily contact. It was fine when one of his friends hugged him or Mrs. Weasley, but when he had to keep still and accept a touch on naked skin, he always felt awkward and uncomfortable. He just wasn't used to it. When Ginny had tried to give him a massage - god, was that only a week ago? - he had tensed immediately, causing her light touches to tickle him awkwardly and her firmer ones to hurt. He had tried to keep still but after a few minutes he had stopped her and reversed their positions, giving her a massage instead.  
Really, he just couldn't give himself into such a position of vulnerability…  
And that's what they made him feel: vulnerable. He didn't like it. And yet, their caresses, probably imbued with magic, soothed the last echoes of his headache and made him feel … well, it was just such an intimate gesture that seemed almost affectionate?

"Harry," Blaise began, sounding oddly hesitant. "You _are_ a submissive Vykélari."

Harry tensed. Merlin, how he wished they would stop saying that already! With flaring indignation he tried to dislodge their hands and pull away but Draco calmly pressed him down with both hands on his chests and Blaise's hands encompassed the sides of his face, his thumbs idly massaging his temples.

"Sshh, Harry. It is true. You are one of our kind now and that _will_ change your life and it will be easier for you, if you accept that. But it doesn't mean that the changes will have to be for the worse."  
It was all very well for them, Harry thought, after all they were not the ones being kidnapped and expected to obey and… he should really ask what it entailed to be a submissive Vyélari.

"Please accept what you are, Harry." Blaise murmured urgently. "Someone special, so very special: powerful beyond believe and beautiful. You will gain in influence and esteem and you will be able to achieve great things." Gently the Italian stroked over Harry's cheek with the back of his hand, his expression a carefully measured mask of warmth and sincerity. "What these things are is up to you."  
Harry looked up into the black eyes of the tanned Italian, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. What if he didn't want to be powerful? But he knew what the Slytherin implied: he could do much good, if only he accepted his new status.  
That in itself didn't sound so bad at all but Harry really couldn't believe that Draco and Blaise would simply allow him to pursue whatever goal he wished to achieve. It was more likely that they would try to use him for their own interests.

"But understand, Harry: your mate or mates will share in that power and that is why many Vykélari outside of the wards of this manor will try everything to force you to mate with them."  
Almost Harry could have smirked in bitter self-irony. See? They _did_ want to use him.

"And you don't?" Harry asked quietly, staring up at the Slytherin he had barely known before this whole mess had started.

"Draco and I would never force you into anything. We don't want you to mate with someone who would use you to become the next Dark Lord, but that is all."

Gentle fingers grasped Harry's chin, turning him to look at Draco, the blonde's eyes burning with a cold, silver fire. "If something develops between us, I wouldn't be averse. But we won't force you. I'll swear a Wizard's Oath if you want me to."

Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating the blonde's words. They were sincere enough, and yet… "And if not? If I don't want to … with you, when can I go home?"

"We will see." Draco answered with a small smile. "First, though, you have to learn how to better control your magic, how to fly." Here Draco's smile widened, making his normally aristocratic and cool face seem more open and approachable, almost beautiful.

Harry fought down his blush and encountered his school-nemesis' intense stare as calmly as he could. He didn't miss the evasion and if he was honest with himself, the unwillingness of his captors to commit themselves to any specific date worried him. Though not as intelligent as Hermione, Harry was in no way stupid. He knew how fatal ambition could be, the question was: if Harry refused to mate with them, would they let him go and risk losing him to one of their enemies, would they keep him imprisoned in this golden cage forever or would they go to the lengths of killing him?

He couldn't believe that they would do that. Not Draco, whose conscience hadn't allowed him to murder Dumbledore. And Blaise really didn't seem to be a killer either.

But would they let him go? Harry couldn't tell. He would have to wait for a chance to escape and in the meantime he would have to lull the two Slytherins into a false sense of security.

"Okay." He whispered before swatting their hands away from his face and sitting up slowly, frowning as he waited for his headache to return and he was relieved when it didn't.  
"Why is my vision so blurred again?"

"You transformed back again, completely." Draco murmured, reaching for the brunet's black hair almost wistfully as if he missed the green feathers. Harry shied away; he didn't want them to touch him right now, not while he didn't know what they planned to do with him in the long run.  
"Then I need my glasses."

"I will contact my father tomorrow morning and see what of your possessions I can get for you."

Harry eyed the blonde a little bit warily. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Draco, my name is Draco."

"Okay." Harry relented, even though it was odd to call him that when during their long years of enmity they had always ever called each other by their surnames. But really it wasn't worth the fight and furthermore he needed to at least pretend to cave in.

"You could always transform your eyes back." Blaise spoke up, his black eyes seeming to stare right into Harry. "Not right now after you exhausted yourself like that, but tomorrow morning. You wouldn't need the glasses then."

Something in the Italian's expression made Harry wonder if this was more than a simple suggestion, a test maybe. The way Blaise kept looking at him, waiting for an answer as if it would decide all their future dealings…  
"I like my glasses." Harry shrugged uncomfortably. And really, he had enough for now of the freakishness of his inheritance. Even his blurred sight was somewhat of a relief, a bit of normality and familiarity where his world had seemed too instable otherwise.

Blaise nodded. "All right."  
Somehow, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that he had given the wrong answer.

* * *

"He is rejecting his inheritance!" Blaise pressed out, resting his chin on his arms that were folded on the edge of the spacious pool. Draco watched him with a grimace, seeing the way the Italian's jaw muscles worked tensely. That must _hurt_!

They were alone in the pleasantly tempered water, Harry having retreated into his rooms, tired from the accidental magic he had cast earlier and probably to escape their presence for a while. It was understandable and, to be honest, quite welcome as Blaise had found it increasingly difficult to stay calm around the Gryffindor.  
They had swam rounds in the ridiculously large pool for almost an hour, an hour during which Blaise's head only emerged from the water long enough to draw a deep breath and keep on diving. That had always been one of his habits and Draco privately thought it suited his silent character. Blaise needed to think things through and he revelled in the deep, all-encompassing silence the water provided him with. Blaise loved water, which was a little bit strange seeing as Vykélari were meant to fly and not to swim. But then, there were aquatic birds also.

"We don't even know if that is possible, Blaise. Don't jump to conclusions." Draco cautioned from where he sat at the edge of the pool right next to his fiancé, drops of water still clinging to his bare torso.  
"Tomorrow we will speak with my father and see what he found out. And if nothing comes out of it we will simply have to show him the thrill of flying on one's own wings, the wonderful things he could do with his magic. If he has the spirit of a Vykélari he will not be able to deny himself those pleasures."

Blaise growled lowly, not really appeased by that proposal. Not at all.  
He had deliberated why it bothered him so much that the newly fledged submissive would reject his inheritance because of them and he didn't like the reasons. Injured pride that the submissive would rather dismiss his powers instead of taking to Draco and him, a misplaced desire for that same power and for that lithe body and the searing knowledge that the thought of another Vykélari aside from his fiancé and him taking those two things galled him beyond reason. He didn't love Potter, Merlin, no, he didn't even like him exceptionally well, merely respected him somewhat grudgingly; but he would be damned if the only existing submissive would end up in another's arms!

Mordred, how was he to tell his fiancé?

Once more he submerged below the water's surface, his hands moving to keep him down. Immediately the water pressed against his ears, filling them with the sound of his own rushing blood, the sound of the water currents moving, the small waves hitting the edge of the pool. He heard Draco's left leg moving in a slow, small circle, disturbing the water's flow, the sound exaggerating the movement because he was so close and because there was barely anything else to hear.  
Yes, how was he to tell Draco?

Idly he let a small amount of air escape his lips, watching the small bubbles heading upwards like small, transparent jellyfish towards the surface where he saw Draco's distorted form looking down at him.  
Draco who disliked Harry with a passion.

Blaise shook his head, letting the way his hair moved with the water distract him for a moment. He loved that feeling. Maybe he should let his hair grow just to experience it more strongly.  
Hmmm. But Draco had also said he wanted to kiss the other teen. And really after feeling with the Hesperides' Nectar how magic could enhance the experience, Blaise certainly was not averse to the idea. Harry's magic might just prove to be addictive.

Absentmindedly Blaise pushed himself away from the pool's wall, treading the water softly with both his legs, not minding the resistance it offered to his movements as he floated there on his back in what was the closest thing to weightlessness there was on earth.  
Merlin, it had only been a day. One single day and already he was determined to keep a tight hold of _Harry Potter_ of all people, if Draco assented that is. He would never risk losing Draco. The blonde was too precious to him.

One single day. They were right when they said never to underestimate the seductive capabilities of power. What could he say? He was a Slytherin.

Gradually his lung started to burn from the lack of air, a sign that his little retreat into the silence of the water was about to end. A pity that, he could have used some more time alone with his thoughts.  
Turning in the water, Blaise stemmed his feet against the tiles of the pool, and pushed himself off. When he broke to the surface, filling his lungs with the sweet air and brushing the wetness out of his eyes, Draco was there at the side of the pool, one of the large, fluffy towels wrapped around his narrow hip, another held open for him.  
Smiling a little bit hesitantly, Blaise swam towards the blond, still unsure of what was to come.

"Better now?" Draco asked with twinkling eyes as the dark skinned Italian hauled himself out of the pool and accepted the towel. "What had you in such a state, love?"

Sighing, Blaise pressed the white towel against his face, wiping it dry and gaining some moments of time. "Harry."

"Of course." Draco said amicably, as if that was a perfectly well reason and the little smile in his voice made Blaise look up at him. His blond lover countered his gaze calmly, waiting for him to elaborate.  
"I think we should strive to mate him." Blaise deadpanned, really not having the patience right now or the nerves to be more subtle.

Draco cocked a perfectly groomed eyebrow before looking towards the windows on first floor of the manor behind which Harry's rooms were situated. "_You_ were the one to appeal to me for caution regarding him."

"I know." Blaise conceded. "But today made me realise that there are only three possibilities: either we mate with him, another does, or he dies. I don't want him to die, the first submissive in two centuries! If he dies without a male descendant there might never be another. I am too fascinated with magic to allow it to vanish, _you_ are too fascinated to allow that. It has to be preserved."

Draco looked back at him, his eyes gleaming and the corners of his mouth twitching into an unwilling smile. "You are right. And?"

"And I don't want another to rule that power." Blaise said, watching as Draco lowered his eyes to hide the wicked elation that flared in them. It didn't work, Blaise had already seen it. So Draco wanted the younger teen also? Interesting.

"That power. Yes, I admit to desire it also." Draco purred and again he looked towards the Gryffindor's rooms, his lips curling into a complacent smirk.  
"And I admit that I love a challenge." This challenge and all the challenges Harry might decide to put in his way in the future.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you liked it and if not: tell me what I could improve, I'd really appreciate that!


	9. Adler

**CHAPTER 9: Adler**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I'm sorry it took me so long to update. Life got in the way ;-)

Thank you very much for all the insightful reviews! Especially to Obsessed362, who is still the review record keeper and to AustralianGypsy, for being the 500th reader. Honestly, that is amazing.

Now enjoy the next chapter. I'm not really pleased with it, but yeah, well… I'll let you judge it.

* * *

Soft lips brushed over the hollow of his throat enticingly, barely touching him at all, and he could feel warm breath caressing his sensitive skin, teasingly blowing over the wet trail that his lover's tongue must have left behind moments earlier, when his brain had still been too clouded by sleep to take notice. He could feel the little hairs on his skin rising in response with the pleasure of it and he arched upwards, seeking more contact, stretching his shoulders that itched with the need to release his wings.  
"Mmm…" God! How he loved waking like this…

He tried to bring up his hands to stroke over those strong shoulders, fully intending to let them glide downwards and tease over the skin on his lover's side and let them twine around his torso to gain enough leverage to reverse their positions. But he found himself unable to and he looked up: his hands were tied to the headboard, loosely enough to not hurt him but firmly enough to bereave him of the chance to break free.  
Fixing his glare on his lover's form, he growled lowly in open annoyance. He wanted to _touch_!  
"Blaise!"

The lips that were currently working their way down Draco's chest stopped, curling into a wicked smile against his already feverish skin. "Hmm?" The Italian hummed inquisitively before sucking one of the blonde's nipples into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth, torturing the small nub with his tongue.

Draco hissed and threw his head back, bucking against his lover, before falling down onto the soft mattress again. "Fuck, Blaaaaiise!" He moaned and bit his lower lip sharply.  
Blaise chuckled lowly against his flesh and started to pinch Draco's other nipple, toying with it while still sucking, licking and kissing the one beneath his lips. Jolts of searing pleasure burned their way down through Draco's body directly to his groin, which was quickly becoming the centre of his circulation and gods, the feeling was wonderful and maddening and oh, so not enough!  
He wanted more, more contact, more pleasure, he wanted to bury his cock in Blaise's tight heat or watch his lips wrapped around his length, deep-throating him skilfully. Or goddammit, he wanted for his lover to take him, possess him. Anything, just anything, something…

But Blaise merely teased his way down to his navel, dipping his tongue inside for a moment, relishing in the desperate moans that action elicited from his platinum blond treasure.

"God, Blaise, untie me!"

"What was it you said to Harry? 'I think not'." And just like that, the tanned Italian followed the line of hair over the rippled, quivering muscles of Draco's abdomen, ever downwards to where his prize awaited him, nestled between blond locks.  
"I need to have you now. And I sure as hell don't want you to interfere!"

Whatever Draco's answer would have been, it was washed away in sudden pleasure as surely as any unanchored thing by a tsunami as Blaise gripped him, weighing his hardening length in his palm, stroking once, twice and sending spikes of pleasure through Draco's body that drowned his mind in a deep, impenetrable haze of pure bliss.  
It stopped too soon, as Blaise's hand uncurled from around his prick, leaving merely one finger behind to move tantalizingly over the thick vein on the underside. Draco moaned and almost whimpered out of desperation, helplessly pulling at his bonds and flexing his hips.

"Sshh, Dragon." Blaise murmured huskily, his free hand ghosting over the blonde's alabaster thigh in calming, soothing circles.  
Draco bit his lips, frustrated beyond measure. Damn it, what accursed thing had caused the bastard to think Draco needed soothing? God, by Mordred and his twisted mother and the Seven Sisters and who else "Fuck me, now!"

His very annoyed outcry was answered with a deep chuckle that seemed to reverberate through his body and gods, Blaise seemed to be in one of his cruel mindsets because he closed lithe fingers around the base of Draco's cock in an imitation of a cock ring to keep him from cumming. Then he bent down to press a light kiss on the tip of his lover's raging erection. His tongue dove out to tease over the slit, pressing in for but a moment and making Draco cry out in abandon and flex his hip in a futile attempt of getting _deeper_ into that hot mouth.  
Blaise, the accursed devil, pulled back and waited a moment, before repeating his actions and this time, his lover managed to keep from moving, but he hissed a litany of curses and swearwords nonetheless and his head rolled from side to side as Blaise finally took him in, sucking and licking and _humming_! Draco would have come from the vibrations that moment if not for the tight ring of fingers still wrapped around the base of his cock.  
Gods, how he wished Blaise would straddle him and lower himself onto his aching need and just fuck himself hard and deep and fast. Or stop teasing and end his torment in another way…

"Jerk!"

"I love it when you sweet-talk during sex." The dark Italian murmured amusedly against his cock, the deep baritone of his voice doing unspeakable things to Draco.  
But it seemed Blaise was taking pity on him: he withdrew and a moment later Draco shuddered at the sudden cool wetness between his legs in consequence to the muttered cleaning and lubrication charms. Persisting yet gentle hands urged his legs up into a bent position that caused his back to arch and his ass to stick into the air, easily accessible for his lover.  
And then the thick head of Blaise's oil covered hard-on nudged against his tight, un-stretched entrance and slowly, ever so slowly, the bastard pushed downwards and in, causing the wrinkled skin to stretch around his penetrating flesh with a shallow, burning pain and Draco hissed but he didn't want it to stop.  
Insistently he tugged at the hands holding his ankles apart and they released him, gripping his hips tightly instead, leaving Draco free to wrap them around his lover's chest.

Contracting his strong leg muscles, Draco pulled the tanned Italian close, burying him deep inside him in one go. Twin groans filled the air, one of pure pleasure, one tinted with pain.  
"Now fuck me!" Draco whispered fiercely, even though he knew that he would feel it for many hours if the other moved now without him having a chance to adapt to the considerable size invading his body. Grey eyes flashed in a silent challenge and for a moment Blaise wondered how such a cold colour like that ice-grey could burn so hot.

But he obliged and soon, his hips were slamming forwards, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room. Draco tried to counter each of the hard thrusts one by one but he didn't have much leverage and that in itself was frustrating but rather quickly forgotten as Blaise pounded his prostrate, hitting it with every violent flexing of his hips.  
Draco moaned and hissed and Blaise bit his lips, ever the silent one, his muscles tensing and quivering under the onslaught of sensations.

"Harder!" the blonde demanded and Blaise forcefully pushed into him, his pace brutal, exactly how Draco wanted it. The two lovers locked gazes, feverish, piercing, burning, and Blaise could feel the walls around his flesh tightening erratically and not even half a dozen thrusts later, Draco came with a hoarse outcry, his seed splashing against the tanned, smooth skin of Blaise's stomach.

Blaise threw his head back, his mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure as he kept on thrusting into the tight heat. Beneath him Draco moaned helplessly, shaken by the powerful sensations of his orgasm that still flooded his whole body and left his nerves raw. It didn't help any that his lover was still pounding into him without restraint as if in a frenzy, his cock sliding torturously over the overwrought nerve endings deep within him.  
Soon Draco's legs were giving out, but before he could lower them from their place around the other man's chest, Blaise grabbed them at his ankles once more, bending them towards Draco's chest, the new position allowing him a deeper penetration, a fact he took advantage of immediately.

He bowed over the bend form of his lover, looming over him and watching him writhe with every push, his fiancé, the pale beauty beneath him who was all tied up for him and completely and utterly at his mercy, trusting him to never use it against him.

And with that thought, Blaise finally tensed and with a last deep thrust he spilled himself into the tight channel of his lover.

Moments passed with neither of them moving, just basking in the afterglow and breathing, or panting rather. Then, equally as gently as he had been forceful and violent earlier, Blaise pulled out, grimacing sympathetically at the small wince that got him.  
"Sorry." He whispered, bringing one shivering hand to caress Draco's face.

"Don't be. I asked for it. But could you untie me now?" Draco asked, wriggling his wrists for emphasis.

Blaise chuckled as he reached for his wand and flicked it at the ties to release them. "Mmm. But you were glorious." Mischievously he cocked his head and smirked. "Nonetheless we should hurry and clean up if we want to speak to your father before getting Harry for breakfast."

Draco blinked, then looked up, aghast. "God, Blaise, my father! Merlin, I'll kill you! Did you have to be so rough knowing we'd meet with him? If I can't walk or sit down in front of him without wincing, I'll castrate you! Would rid me of some major problems!"

Blaise merely grinned, completely unabashed "Your fault for not remembering it before asking me to do you harder."

"You could have reminded me." Draco grumbled ill-humouredly as he stood, wincing at the soreness in his nether regions.

"Oh, come, Dragon: it's all a question of control, endurance and your skill as an actor..."

* * *

Draco was rather good in all three of those, as things turned out not even half an hour later. He strode into Blaise's conference room as if he owned it, his steps sure, measured and graceful and he even managed not to glare at his lover's smirk.

The long conference room that looked more like a hall or a galleria than an actual room, was at the eastern side of the manor, and thus, the sun shone brightly into it through the large, high windows that were embedded in the outer wall in regular distances. The natural light swathed the pale walls in a golden hue, interacting with the cleverly and artfully painted wallpaper, that was kept in different tones of sandstone and beiges to form an intriguing yet subtle play of colours. The whole length of the room's arched ceiling was adorned with a detailed fresco showing the Roman Pantheon in all its glory: the ruling triumvirate consisting of Jupiter, Juno and Minerva with her owl and around them Apollo with his Kithara and Mars who was armed with a spear and shield. Diana was surrounded with trees and animals, then the beautiful Venus; Ceres graced the image next to a wheat sheaf and there was Vesta, the goddess of hearth, home and family, and not far from her sat Bacchus amidst his grape vines. Mercury was there with his winged sandals, and Neptune and Amor with trident and bow, Asclepius (the god of medicine who had been known in both Greece and Italy) and Vulcan.

It was a sight that both Blaise and Draco knew well enough by now to not be distracted by it, even though the richness of detail, the beauty and finery of it were astounding. Without hesitating or slowing down both of them crossed the room, passing a row of stiff and uncomfortable looking chairs that were arranged around a long U-shaped table that dominated the room and opened towards a seemingly naked wall on the other side.

While Draco sat down on one side of the table, Blaise approached a small, two-drawer dresser standing in the corner next to the blank wall and casually opened the top drawer. His fingers glided over the filing system in it with practiced ease, briefing through the labelled folders until he found what he had searched for under the name of 'Malfoy Manor'. Swiftly Blaise took out the folder and opened it, and the velvet-lined envelope revealed a small rectangular mirror, barely as large as a man's hand.  
Careful to not touch the reflective surface and dirty it with his fingerprints, Blaise took the mirror and held it, shoulder-high, against the wall. As the levitation charm that covered the wall hummed against his fingertips, he let go and watched for a moment as the silver thing floated in the air, mere centimetres away from the wallpaper.

"Engorgio." He voiced, careful to speak clearly and pronounce the spell correctly and minding his wand movement. The mirror was quite valuable, no need to damage it with a poorly casted spell. Immediately the mirror started to grow until it covered the whole side of the room, reflecting the conference table, the ceiling fresco and in front of it all, Draco and Blaise.

"Lucius Malfoy."  
And with that a ripple went through the silvery surface, the colours it showed mixed and swirled together. They rearranged themselves and then, moments later a new room took form, or rather one side of another room in Malfoy Manor. It was a kind of two-way mirror that formed a visual and acoustic connection between Malfoy and Lanai Manor. The set-up had been expensive, but it was a much more comfortable and _clean_ way of communication and furthermore it enabled the owners of the respective pair of mirrors to converse cross-border, which was not possible when using the floo connections due to the different networks.

This specific mirror was connected to Draco's home and currently showed a room in Malfoy Manor and with it, a peculiar foursome already waiting for the engaged couple: right in the front, on an arm chair each sat Lucius, Narcissa, Amalyne and, surprisingly enough, Severus. The wall behind them was covered in portraits of, as Draco noticed with a surprised frown, some of his ancestors, all of whom looked at them with an air of dignity and solemnity worth of any Malfoy. It was in all honesty not the sight that Blaise and Draco had expected to see: they had agreed with their parents to meet in the mornings of every second day and keep them informed about the newly fledged Vykélari. They had not expected for Draco's godfather to be there also and neither for all of the portraits. Draco knew very well that those used to hang in the family gallery and so his father or his mother seemed to have deliberately decided for them to join their conversation; for what reason, he couldn't tell.  
And then there was the fact that his father would usually hold mirror-meetings in his study and not in the parlour the foursome currently occupied. Though Draco guessed that might have something to do with the amount of portraits hanging on the far wall, there would never have been space enough for them in his father's study, stuffed with book shelves as it was. Merlin, there must have been more than a dozen pictures of varying sizes…

"Good morn…" Blaise started but was soon interrupted by his former teacher's cutting voice.  
"You are late!"

"Behave, Severus." Lucius drawled. "Do I have to remind you: It is the duty of a godfather to spoil his godson."

"There was never a reason to do that, seeing as you managed to spoil him enough for a whole league of godfathers."

"Oh, be quiet!" Narcissa said before turning to her son and soon-to-be son-in-law with a smile.  
"You look wonderful, the two of you. Italy becomes you well, it seems. Maybe I should visit sometime."

"I would gladly accompany you, dearest, it can be stunningly beautiful with the right guide." Amalyne smiled at her friend. And if 'sometime' became 'soon', they could maybe intervene in a guiding capacity in certain, very important matters.

"Uhm." Draco blinked in a very undignified matter, but really after having been shagged senseless half an hour before and with his behind still stinging as a reminder whenever he moved, he just couldn't cope very well with such unexpected bouts of surrealism.  
"What is all of this?" he gestured towards the portraits, which huffed in indignation at his very un-Malfoyish behaviour.

"These are the last seven Malfoys who mated with submissive Vykélari and of course their husbands." Lucius answered with a self-congratulatory half-smile. "I thought we might as well leave the mirror-connection open so that you can consult them whenever you have a question concerning your charge. How is he, by the way?"

"Still in denial, I'm afraid." Blaise said with a sigh. "We had a small … incident … yesterday. Upon hearing that he was a submissive he lost it and tried to escape the manor via the floo connection."

Severus snorted disgustedly. "I told you, he is more trouble than he is worth."

Draco and Blaise both frowned at the former head of Slytherin house with irritation and, more importantly, confusion: when had they stopped taking pleasure in the derogatory things their former professor never failed to say about the Gryffindor Golden Boy?

"Lucius," one of the portraits drawled. "You should get rid of that boy! Too intellectually challenged to be more than an inferior to a Malfoy and too insubordinate to be just that."

"Careful, Marcus, or Cygnus will throttle you in your painting." The current Malfoy patriarch answered without looking back. The portrait however, fell silent. Cygnus was notorious for his cruelty as well as for his fatherly affection towards a certain potions master. And there were certain nasty things a portrait could do to another portrait.

Severus smirked quietly to himself.

"In any way: " another portrait said calmly, completely ignoring the petty bickering around him "a submissive is worth whatever trouble he might cause during courting. Especially some." his eyes gleamed within the painting with an intelligent sparkle, attester to his ruthlessly calculative persona. He was a tall, formidable looking young man in his dark, unpretentious dress robe that was adorned only with silver edging; his platinum blond hair, a trademark of his family, flowed down his shoulders in rich waves. His appearance and bearings made him stand out amongst his family, for despite his obvious youth - he could not be older than twenty-five in this picture - he seemed quieter and calmer and lacked the often displayed haughtiness. He was obviously self-confident, but enough so that he didn't have to assure his environment of that fact constantly.  
One corner of his mouth twitched and he glanced down to another painting that seemed to be empty, only showing a magnificent rose garden. Then, silently, as if only to himself, he murmured "Not all of them are eager to mate."  
Draco and Blaise looked up sharply at that, encountering the deep blue eyes, darker than Draco's own, that, despite the soft smile on the man's lips, couldn't be any graver. But before they had a chance to probe deeper, Amalyne interrupted them.

"How did you react?" she asked, leaning forward. "You know that sometimes it is leniency that wins favour."

'They speak as if Harry was a child to be groomed into a demure, well-behaved and biddable house-wife!' Blaise thought, rather irritated, and very irritated that he was irritated in the first place. This was his mother, for god's sake!  
Next to him, Draco squeezed his forearm soothingly and answered a little bit guiltily for both of them. "I'm afraid, we could have handled it better."

"We didn't realise how bad he was taking the news of his heritage." Blaise continued, his voice still a little bit tight, as he sat down next to his fiancé. "I tried to push him into accepting it and his magic reacted. It retracted all the changes of his transformation and afterwards he was exhausted and seemed even more reluctant." There was really no need to tell them that Harry's accidental magic had attacked him.  
"That reminds me, could you try to get some of his things from those Weasleys? He needs his glasses and though I don't want to return his wand to him just yet it wouldn't hurt to at least know it is accessible for us."

"Of course," Narcissa said. "I will contact them. They have been made aware of what Mr Potter is and with whom he is at the moment. They will not interfere or hinder you." Draco nodded his thanks. This was at least something to calm Harry with: his precious weasels knew about the situation and didn't have to fear for him needlessly.

"But why does he need his glasses?" Lucius asked with a frown, fixing the two younger men with an inquisitive stare.

Blaise sighed. "He would rather wear his glasses than endure his changed vision. We think he's trying to reject his inheritance." He paused, looking at the seemingly impassive expressions of the four persons on the other side of the mirror, knowing that they were irritated by the news.

"Is that even possible?" Draco asked and he glanced at the portraits behind his parents, seven of which were submissives themselves according to his father. But he couldn't for the life of him understand why someone would even want to reject such a gift, let alone try to actually do it. He was pretty sure they didn't know it either.

"It isn't possible." One of the older paintings said confidently, but it seemed the man was speaking more from guesswork than actual knowledge. "Powerful magic wants to be used. It would become wild and dangerous and make itself noticeable and unavoidable."  
Others murmured affirmatively, or nodded.

"It is possible." The young man said again, as quiet as before.

"Oh be quiet, Adler! There is no proof…"

"My husband did suppress his inheritance, quite successfully." He pointed out, still not even a hint of annoyance in his quiet voice.

"Yes, very successfully." Another painting drawled. "After all you felt his outstanding magic."

The younger one, Adler, shook his head. "I didn't feel it. I _suspected_ it." Then he raised his head, looking at the Malfoys, Zabinis and Severus in front of him.

"If he is akin to my Ives in any way at all, your so called submissive will rather die than leave himself in your hands just because you want him to. You were enemies, if I did not misunderstand the situation?"

"They were, during their days at Hogwarts and that unfortunate war." Lucius said, his lips drawn into a tight line. But really, he wasn't so sure if it was the war that had been unfortunate or its ending.  
The one ending that had been achieved meant the attenuation of pureblood values, the other would have meant the death of the one and only submissive they knew of.

"Then indeed, he will find a way. Do not underestimate him, for despite his youth he lead a war and killed a lord level wizard. Be kind…"

"I know exactly what he is capable of, Adler! _And_ how to treat him. Thank you very much." Draco's eyes flashed; he was a little bit vexed that someone who had been dead for well over three centuries was trying to give him love advice.

"Do you? My great-great and many more greats, grandson? Is that why your little nightingale tried to flee your esteemed company? Please do me the favour of sharing in your rich knowledge sometime." Adler said pleasantly, no hint of mockery tainting his silky voice. Only his eyes were laughing.

Draco narrowed his own eyes, but he didn't answer. He had heard worse insults during the war and had needed to learn how to deal with them without reverting to violence and insult. Blaise was more reluctant to let it go, it seemed.  
"There is no need for rudeness." he growled next to Draco, his voice dangerous, ominous.

"I agree." Narcissa said with a pleasant smile, throwing a warning glance at her son and his fiancé. Adler Malfoy had been a rather powerful man in his day; while he had been the Malfoy patriarch, the family had gained much influence and amassed great riches; in fact Adler had made a major contribution to the prestigious standing his family still held, exploiting the power he had gained through his mating with a submissive to its full potential.  
One didn't gain his assistance with snide remarks.

"But Adler, if you please, how can we persuade young Mr. Potter to accept his heritage?"

"That I cannot say, as I do not know him." Adler conceded with a barely perceptible nod. "Most probably if he didn't know of his Vykélari heritage beforehand, he is afraid. Maybe it is the idea of not being human or the idea of submitting to another man. Maybe he doesn't like to lose control over his life or there is a relationship that his inheritance would now destroy. If he just didn't like the two of you, he would embrace his gifts and use them to flee. Breaking through wards is no difficulty for a well-rested submissive. After all it is solely a matter of magical strength to do that."

Draco and Blaise shared an alarmed glance. What if Harry, the moment his magic had replenished itself, apparated away right through the wards? They would never know where he had gone to and might not find him in time to prevent another Vykélari to catch him, or someone who didn't want that much power in the hands of a single person to murder him.  
"How can we keep him from breaking through the apparation wards?" Blaise asked.

"Most often when a submissive is unwilling, one would simply put a block on his magic." One of the elder portraits said, Marcus, the one who had insulted Severus earlier. "But most often, it isn't necessary."

"And all Vykélari love their freedom. Blocking his magic will only make him hate you." One of the submissives said.

"In any case," Marcus continued "our family magic is strong, like the Zabini's, our markings bear witness to it. No submissive would hesitate to join with such powerful families."  
Narcissa coughed delicately and Amalyne pursed her lips, while Lucius and Severus both turned towards the collage of paintings in their back, openly disdained expressions on their face. "Didn't you listen as I described the boy?" Lucius drawled scornfully.

"Mr. Potter is not impressed by power - " Severus said in a perfect replica of his friend's tone of voice "political or magical, he doesn't care because he is powerful enough himself in both regards, being the Boy Who Lived -" That much, Severus had to concede, he was after all not naïve.  
"And he blatantly disregards any authoritative figure he comes across. And there are things that all of you dismissed too easily: Mr. Potter will be inclined to flee Zabini Manor, merely because he is held captive there in the first place. He has some issues with such things. And he will try to flee _you_, because he will think that you bullied him into staying. Again: he has some issues with bullies. All a leftover from his childhood, I'd guess."

"How would you know about his childhood? I thought you hated him…" Draco asked.  
From Severus' look Draco could tell that he thought the question to be foolish, and that he had expected better of his favourite student, but Draco didn't back down.

"Severus, don't be difficult!" Lucius sighed, vexed. "I swear you spend too much time with Cygnus…"

"It would do all of you much good to spent more time with him, but be that as it may, I was a spy for his side! Do you think I was too unobservant to not find out some things about that boy? Furthermore, I gave him Occlumency lessons on Dumbledore's order. You have no idea what I have seen in that head of his…"

"Occlumency lessons…" Lucius was baffled.

Severus nodded. "During his fifth year, to keep such things as the Ministry incident from happening. Unfortunately he was a lousy student. He thought to be so clever, thought he could use the connection to his advantage without the Dark Lord noticing it. His naivety and impulsiveness cost him his godfather. Good riddance, I'd say. In any case it was a wake-up call for Potter, which was much needed."

"What about his childhood?" Narcissa asked. "Why do you say he has issues with deprivation of liberty and … bullies?"

"The family Dumbledore put him with hated Potter, or more specifically, they hated magic." Severus eyes seemed to glaze over as he remembered something. "Until his Hogwarts letter he lived in a cupboard under their stairs. His cousin bullied him whenever he could and was spurred on by the boy's aunt and uncle. They didn't beat him, I think, his aunt and uncle I mean, at least I didn't see any proof of it, but his cousin did. With his clique of underlings he hunted Potter through their neighbourhood. Beat him black and blue."

Severus harrumphed and leaned back in his chair with a frown. It were always those images that made him feel so conflicted. He knew he should take pleasure in them, ridicule Potter because of them, but always they appalled him instead. And nonetheless he had let Potter feel his scorn whenever he came across such memories during their lessons. He had hated himself for that, had hated Potter more for making him hate himself.

"I don't think he ever had any friends before Weasley." He continued almost mechanically.  
"In the summer after his first year at Hogwarts they imprisoned him in a spare bedroom, putting bars in front of the windows. Practically starved him, too." Severus' felt his throat tighten. He knew there was a reason why he had never allowed himself to think about what he had seen in Potter's memory. It had been easier to dismiss each of the countless flashbacks individually, but summarized, they seemed oppressive.

"Another aunt of his, on his paternal side, she had a dog and the whole family watched it chase Potter through their backyard until he managed to climb a tree. It was the aunt he accidentally blew up in the summer after his second year, I don't know if you heard of the incident. After what I saw in his memories, I don't even want to know what she did to finally make him retaliate."

"Merlin, Severus." Narcissa gasped, a delicate hand covering her lips. "How could Dumbledore leave him with such a family!"

The potions master shook his head dazedly. "Some blood wards that were keeping him safe from the Dark Lord. I know that Minerva didn't want to do it, but Dumbledore was adamant. Maybe he would have been dead before the Dark Lord had been resurrected, maybe not; who knows?"

Draco clenched down on Blaise's hand in his grip. He wanted to ask how his godfather could have still been so horrible to Harry when he had known of all those things, he wanted to search the younger Vykélari and hide him away from such horrors. He wanted to _hurt_ those people…  
And he had no right to do any of those, after all he had done to Harry during their days at Hogwarts.

Slowly, Blaise wound his hand out of Draco's tight grasp and laid it around his shoulders instead, pulling him close. How he wished he had known earlier of Harry's history. It was not that he regretted his actions per se, but he would have been more understanding, would have been gentler when placing those restrictions upon the young submissive.

Silence stretched over the two rooms as everyone tried to digest what they had heard.  
"I will have them killed." Amalyne said finally, almost reassuringly as if she was talking about getting compensation for a broken, expensive vase. Lucius nodded once, his eyes hard and cold, already thinking of several dark books full of curses that were almost impossible to detect…

"Don't!" Severus spoke up. "Whatever you do, don't touch the Dursleys. Potter wouldn't want anything to happen to them. They were even specifically protected from the Dark Lord during the war. He would turn on you."

"So what do we do now?" Blaise asked. "Draco and I decided that we would mate him, but not against his will." He deliberately ignored the delighted and somewhat complacent expressions of his mother, Narcissa and Lucius. Really, could they look any more smug?

"Well, I am elated to hear that, dear." Amalyne cooed. "But it might take some … coaxing, you realise that?"

"Not against his will, mother." Blaise said, very seriously. "Never against his will. If we give him time and some reasons to, he will come to us willingly."

Narcissa smiled at them gently. "I think you are doing the right thing. In the long run it will be better for all of you if he entered a mateship of his own accord."

"I hope the two of you know what you are facing." Severus muttered while Lucius frowned next to him.

"Don't let him control you."

"We won't father." Draco didn't tell his father that he had no wish to control the Gryffindor either. He didn't think the Malfoy patriarch would condone that "But if we can't keep him in the manor without shackling him - which he would hate us for - then what do we do?"

"For now, I don't think that it will be a problem." Draco said thoughtfully. "He seemed to be agreeable to stay at least until he has learned how to control his magic. For once his saviour complex works in our favour: he doesn't want to endanger anyone. Until he has learned how to harness it, he will stay, so we might have two or three weeks."  
And by then they needed to have won Harry over. Merlin, it was too short a time…

"I would speak with him."

Everyone turned towards the portraits again. In the previously empty rose garden now stood a young man, probably not much older than Blaise and Draco. One could probably say that his hair was red, though not the fiery Weasley-red but a multihued cascade of soft waves: copper and auburn, streaked with strands of dark gold and the colour of wheat in the sun. He wore a loose fitting, blue shirt that matched his eyes perfectly and leather pants, probably as a protection against the thorns of the roses.

"A kind offer, Ives, but you don't have to." Adler said, an unusual softness in his voice.

"And besides," Lucius said "you were rather reluctant to mate my ancestor yourself. It is too much of a risk to bring the two of you together. Mr. Potter needs stability more than anything else right now. And he certainly doesn't need to be inspired by your rebelliousness."

"He needs someone to talk to, someone he can trust to answer his questions without some egoistical motive." Ives answered defiantly, a faint trace of red staining his cheeks.

"I would you refrained from insulting my husband, Lucius." And for the first time, there was something more than indifference in his voice, something undeniably dark and sinister. "I promise you, Ives will not influence Mr. Potter or foment trouble, but he might help ground him a little bit. Why don't you bring both of our portraits to Italy and we will keep an eye on the young submissive."

"I don't think he will like Adler very much." Severus drawled.

"Fortunately, I was never dependant on the benevolence of others." Adler answered. "But where my husband goes, I will follow."

"Then by all means, send them to the manor." Blaise said a little bit impatiently. "Now Draco and I should take our leave; we don't want to keep Harry waiting after all."

"We will keep the connection open, should we have questions." Draco said, but privately he didn't think that they would take the portraits or their parents up on the offer. Harry was too unusual for them to be of much use and they didn't know anything about him.  
No, Harry was Blaise's and his challenge to rise to.

"I will send you that spying potion also, in case he gets lost." Severus said. With Potter's heightened magical strength he might detect normal tracking charms, but the spying potion was veritably undetectable.

"Thank you, Severus." Draco gave him a curt nod. Then the both of them took their leave.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Thanks for taking the time to read!


	10. A Forbidden Letter

**CHAPTER 10: A Forbidden Letter**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I know, I promised to update sooner, and I really wanted to, but life got in the way and then it took me longer to write this chapter than I had thought it would and … I'm sorry…

I won't ever promise to update at a certain time again, I hate breaking promises…

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Harry hadn't slept very much the previous night, plagued by nightmares as he had been. They were not ghost images of the war and the friends he had lost in it as many would naturally be prone to assume. Those had never been much of a problem for him during the last two months, only disturbing his rest when he had thought much about the victims of the war during his waking hours.  
It was because he hadn't been helpless and because he had prevailed over his enemies, Hermione had said with a shrug of her shoulders as if it was totally normal and understandable that he was not traumatized by what he had been through while so many around them fought to keep the memories from ruling their behaviour and their life. Hermione always had an answer.

She herself sometimes dreamt of the torture she had endured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor, he knew that. Ron had told him. Hell, _Ron_ sometimes dreamt of the screams they had heard from the dungeons, where he and Harry had been unable - helpless - to stop it all and save their friend.

But no, it was nothing like that; he had dreamt that he hadn't regained his magic and that he had to leave the Wizarding World because of it. Somehow all the changes of his body had been reverted, he didn't know why or how, but he hadn't even thought about it then. Logic, as is known, is not important for the dreamer. In any case, he had been sent back to the Dursleys, abandoned by his friends, left alone once more with people who hated him.  
The knowledge that Dudley didn't hate him anymore (he wasn't so sure about Petunia and Vernon, you hate what you fear after all) and that his friends would not even abandon him if he ever should lose his ability to perform magic had come only after Harry had awoken. Then the idea that had scared him so much during his sleep had seemed so ridiculous: Ron and Hermione leaving him with the Dursleys, breaking off all contact… god, after all they had been through they'd never do that to him, it was unthinkable. Whatever happened, he knew he'd always have them. But his magic, Merlin, his magic! He wouldn't have survived losing that.

He hadn't lost it, though, and he was still in the Wizarding World. Somewhere. His best friends were out there and probably already searching for him.

But all that knowledge was unimportant while he laid there in a foreign bed, looking up at the blurry image of the fresco in which the birds just started to flutter around and greet the new day, while all around him foreign smells and sounds permeated the night air. The soft murmuring of the rolling waves and the salty freshness the wind brought to his window only emphasized it: he didn't belong here.  
Yes, he knew what Zabini and Malfoy had said, he knew that he might not be safe, not in Italy and not in England. Yet a little, vicious voice in the back of his mind asked persistently why he should believe them. For some reason they wanted him to stay in the manor - maybe they intended to mate him, maybe not. How was he to know? From an objective point of view there were certainly some benefits to such a union for a family whose name had been tainted by fighting on the losing side of the war… it could all be a lie to keep him here.

No, he couldn't trust anyone within this blasted house. He needed to leave, find his way back to England and his friends and sort this out, even with his somewhat dubious control over his magic. If anyone would be able to deal with that it were the two persons who had stood at his side during the war. Malfoy and Zabini in contrast had proven that they didn't know how to handle the situation: all they had done so far was making his magic lash out, who said it wouldn't happen again? Who guaranteed him that they would be able to help him regain control over it?  
At least with Hermione and Ron there was trust and honesty and maybe it was naïve of him, but they had faced worse situations in the past and had always come out on top, he just _knew_ that the three of them could manage the unthinkable again.

But how was he to leave the Manor without help and return to his friends? He had no wand to apparate away, and several house elves had the order to keep him within the wards. And damnit, He knew just how powerful they could be. It hadn't been so long ago that Harry had seen them in battle after all.

By now he certainly wouldn't be able to use the floo connection any longer and he couldn't even approach the wards without getting stunned and dragged right back.

Brooms came to his mind then: maybe if he could find a fast broom and flew high enough right through the wards, the house elves wouldn't dare to stun him for fear of hurting him. Harry thought he might manage to orientate himself well enough: although Zabini's explanation the day before had told him nothing at all about where he was - how was he to know the names of coasts in Italy? - he could deduce from the position of the sun that he was somewhere on the south-western side of Italy. He could probably follow the coast north and then he would have to cross France. In the best case scenario he might be able to find the Delacours, he knew where Fleur's family lived after all. She had shown him the location of her hometown on a map once. If he had understood it correctly, it was something like Hogsmeade, an all-wizarding village.  
As a wizard he should be able to find it…

But there were many ifs and buts in that plan: what if the elves willingly took the risk of hurting him? What if Zabini or Malfoy had ordered them to do whatever it took to keep him within Lanai Manor? As much as he wanted to escape at the moment, he didn't want to die. He wasn't that desperate yet. And aside from the dangers and the fact that Harry didn't know where to even get a broom, his hosts had wings and probably knew how to use them - in contrast to him. It would not be difficult for them to follow him, even if Harry should destroy all other brooms in the manor. Or maybe it would be difficult? How fast were Vykélari?  
He would have to find that out first, and that meant staying in the manor for some time. An idea he was not really fond of at the moment.

Wandless apparition then? Yeah, talking of danger; he really didn't feel like getting splinched somewhere…

No, it seemed that for the moment he need to play by the rules and bide his time.

_He needed to sail close to the wind._

"What are you allowed to do?" Harry whispered into the early morning air, worrying his lower lips. What had Zabini said? God, remembering the moment was more difficult than he would have thought with his memory clouded by anger. But Zabini had been infuriating when he had given all those orders…  
"You are not allowed a wand and you are not to go near the wards." He recited thoughtfully, his voice still a little bit tight: who did that Slytherin think he was, ordering him around like that?

But there had been more. Harry almost hadn't listened to it at the time, too furious with the rules that had been imposed on him. Yes: otherwise he was to be treated like a Zabini by all the house elves; so the question was: what was a grounded Zabini allowed to do?

Suddenly, Harry grinned a smile as narrow as his eyes. If the prophet won't come to the mountain, the mountain must go to the prophet: as he couldn't just go and get help and, the help needed to come to him, and now that he thought about it, _that_ was nowhere near as difficult to achieve as an escape…

But he would need to be able to _see_, and so as much as he didn't want to, in order to escape he had to accept his new eyes, at least temporarily. Once he had his glasses back he could always transfigure them back and never have to deal with them again.  
Steeling himself, Harry willed his vision to change to that overwhelming richness of detail and colour and just like that it did. Gazing up, he watched as the blurry image of the fresco became sharper, until he could make out the outlines clearly and then he could see every unevenness of the ceiling it had been drawn upon, every line of each brushstroke. The colours themselves didn't change much; it seemed that additional colour had not been part of the paint used for this fresco, and for that, Harry was glad.  
Within seconds, it was over and in contrast to the day before, Harry only felt a slight fatigue, nothing that would hinder his body or mind to function.

Now he could begin!

With renewed enthusiasm, Harry climbed out of the ridiculously large bed and walked around it towards the curved foot bench. Like the previous morning he found a pile of clothing, which his two captors had laid out for him when they had accompanied him back to his rooms the previous evening. Harry had been too tired to mind much and hadn't even complained when Blaise had vanished behind the curtain to the side of the king size bed and returned with a fresh pyjama which he had deposited on the bed. It seemed they didn't trust him to dress properly and Harry had thought he should maybe tell them that there was a reason why he had been so tastelessly clothed during their school days, but really, the Dursleys were none of their business; and he had still been so very tired.

Although not tired enough that Harry hadn't wanted to ask for a moment about who had changed his clothes after he had been brought to Lanai Manor, but while his sluggish mind had still dithered, torn between embarrassment and indignation, Zabini had spoken up and made the decision for him. The Italian had explained about the suite of rooms Harry had been given and told him not to hesitate to call upon the house elves, should he have need of anything. With that, both he and Draco bade him goodnight and left him alone.

Alone in a room that was far too large for his comfort.

He had stood there for awhile, watching the slight gap in the curtains opposite of his bed, through which the two Slytherins had left. Then with a sigh, he had taken the pyjama and crossed that very curtain and into the living area behind it. He hadn't taken much notice of the room then, only interested in getting into the bathroom on the other side of it to take a quick shower and then return to fall into his bed.

And that he had done and nothing more.

Now he swiftly dressed into the light brown pants and the black, short-sleeved shirt waiting for him on the foot bench, wondering not for the first time how the hell the two Slytherins had managed to get all those clothes that fast. They fit him perfectly; maybe he would have to ask them.

But for now he would concentrate on putting one over on them…

Not bothering to check his appearance in the large mirror at one side of the bedroom, Harry pushed the curtain to the living area aside and crossed the room swiftly, not even appreciating for a moment the wonderful view of the wide windows, or the warm décor and the furnishings that looked as chic as they seemed comfortable. Not even the fireplace, that only held illusionary fire anyway and didn't even possess a flue. He strode right up to the pair of doors on the other side, from which one lead to the bathroom and the other - as Zabini had explained in an embedded sentence - to a study.

Harry told himself that he was not nervous as he opened the door to the latter one. After all it wasn't as if he was afraid of his captors per se: they hadn't resorted to violence even when he had tried to flee, even when he had attacked Zabini and Harry was rather sure that he was safe from them for the time being. But if they found out what he was about to do, they would take away more of his freedom until he wouldn't be able to move anywhere without supervision, and his chances of escape would be drastically reduced.

In comparison to all the other rooms, the study was rather plain: warm peach-coloured, marbled walls and a white ceiling, the exact same colour of the living area, and high but relatively narrow windows (only in comparison to the wide ones in the other rooms) that were partly veiled by pale curtains. Some kind of plant stood in front of each window, but Harry had no idea what they were. Maybe Neville would have known; no, _surely_, Neville would have known, Harry smiled fondly.  
The desk stood parallel to the windows, a light table with no ornaments whatsoever. The dark tabletop was firmly joined with the wall unit at the side of the room and was empty aside from the silver sculpture of a Pegasus and a crystalline ink well and a white quill. It didn't even have any drawers. Harry frowned and walked round it, seating himself into the pale office chair, on which cushioning charms had been casted so skilfully that one had the impression of sinking into clouds.  
If the chairs at Hogwarts would have been anywhere near as comfortable, Harry thought, shaking his head slightly, the teachers would have had no chance of keeping their students awake.

Not letting himself be distracted for long, Harry opened the drawers of the wall unit, one after the other until he had found what he had searched for: letter paper; thick, gold-bordered, luxurious letter paper with a Pegasus embedded as a water mark.

Well, it was a bit snobbish, but it would do.

Quickly, he took out two of the papers, shut the drawer and laid them out in front of him. Then Harry opened the inkwell with the royal blue ink in it, that was probably some fancy custom-built model if he judged those purebloods correctly and took up the white quill.

He didn't hesitate for one moment as he wrote the first words.

-|-  
_Dear Hermione, dear Ron,_

I need your help…

And so Harry began what should become a momentous and consequential event during the unusual courtship that he was the centre of without even knowing it yet.

Once he had finished the letter and rolled up the papers, closing them with red sealing wax he had found in one of the drawers, he stood and clapped his hands.

This was the critical moment of his plan, the one he didn't know if it would succeed. He needed to get a house elf to send the letter away or give him access to an owl. If it refused, then Malfoy and Zabini would learn of it before he had had the chance to fulfil his plan and the constrictions that had been put upon him would be reinforced and tightened around him until there was no chance of escape. Harry took a deep, steadying breath just as a small house elf appeared in the study with a quiet pop, bowing lowly to him.

"Desidera? Signor Harry Potter, padroncino? Non riesci a dormire?"

Harry blinked at the little creature in front of him that was wrapped up in layers of a pale cloth with dark edging that had once probably been part of a discarded curtain. "Uh… do you speak English?"  
God, he hoped so…

The elf looked up at him, and nodded fiercely, sending its long ears flapping.  
"Naturalmente! Of course, young master Potter!"

"Good." Harry said and made an effort to sound nonchalant and imperious. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, master Harry Potter, sir! Giallina do anything." Almost Harry would have smiled at the eagerness in the elf's voice. How naïve they could be and yet so insightful at times.

"I need you to send a letter for me. I haven't been shown to the owlery yet." He hoped the elf would buy the impression that what he was doing was totally within his privileges, if only he managed to present himself confident enough... but it seemed to waver.

"Maybe master Harry Potter can wait for master Blaise?"

Oh shit. "He is still abed, isn't he?"  
The elf nodded, still looking unhappy.

"I don't want to disturb him, I think I did enough of that yesterday." He gave it a small smile. "And I'd like to settle this before breakfast."

"Giallina is not sure, master Potter. Giallina thinks she should wait for master Blaise. She will take the letter and send it after seeing master Blaise." Hopefully the little thing looked up at him.

Harry desperately tried to keep his heartbeat and breathing under control. Oh, Merlin, how he wished he didn't have to do that. "Is that how you would treat another Zabini?" He asked as sternly as he was able to, but he almost faltered when the large eyes became even larger and started to shine suspiciously. "Blaise ordered you to treat me like you would a Zabini! Do you want to go against the direct orders of the master of this house?"  
Inwardly Harry cringed as the small elf started to whine pitifully and pull at its bat-like ears violently until tears were streaking from its large eyes. "Stop that at once!" he ordered. "I don't want you to punish yourself further."

"But Giallina is a bad elf! Does master want Giallina to punish herself where the master can't see?"

"_No_! She…" Harry closed his eyes. Honestly, dealing with house elves could be trying sometimes. "_you_ are to send away this letter now, without delay. It is important."

"Yes, master Harry Potter! Giallina will do it right now." Harry sighed in relief as the elf held its hand out for the envelope.

"And afterwards I don't. Want. You. To punish. Yourself. Is that clear?"

Again the bat-like ears fluttered as the elf nodded fiercely.

"Good. Then be on your way."

And with a last "Yes, young master!" the small elf was gone.

Slowly, with a relieved sigh, Harry seated himself again on the comfortable office chair. He knew it was but a little victory, but he couldn't stop himself from grinning. He had lost a battle yesterday with the floo debacle, but that didn't mean he would lose the war.

* * *

If Harry's mood was suspiciously improved in comparison to the day before or if he seemed a little bit excited and nervous at the same time, when Blaise and Draco met him this morning, they didn't notice it, too busy to assess his lithe frame and his somewhat short stature. How much of that came from the mistreatment he had endured and how much was natural? Were his eyes so bad because he had been forced to spend much of his time in a small, ill-lit cupboard from such a tender age on? Would his body show scars from the beatings he had taken at the hands of his cousin?

If it did, Blaise and Draco would have them charmed away by a specialist and the muggle wouldn't live much longer…  
And by Morgaine's vengeful nature, if that dog had sunken its fangs into the flesh of the Gryffindor's body only once, Draco swore he would _skin_ the mutt and its owner alive!  
And then, then he would watch them burn.

He knew a dark curse that wizards had sometimes used in medieval times which would make a circular scission around the belly and back of the victim and then peel the skin upwards, severing it from the flesh up to just below the armpits. The skin would melt together above the head and the victim would suffocate in a bag of his own skin.

Rather painful but not that useful against a wizard or witch because even without a wand the victim's accidental magic would usually manage to free him or her before death occurred. But used against a muggle…

Of course such a method would normally be too crude and unsophisticated and way too messy for Draco and he had never even killed before, but what could he say? It was a good image at that moment.

Hopefully unaware of his line of thoughts, Harry interrupted them nonetheless as he spoke up, looking at him cautiously.  
"You're staring, Malfoy." It seemed to seriously unnerve him, more so than the day before. He was a little bit jittery, Draco thought, wondering what could have caused the change in behaviour overnight. Almost as if he was nervously waiting for something to happen…  
Maybe the notion of what Blaise and he could want from Harry was finally settling in after all. Though privately, Draco hoped that this wasn't the reason for his nervousness. After all he didn't want the prospect to frighten the young submissive.  
Draco gave him a small smile, meaning it to be reassuring. "I am sorry." He murmured, the teasing quality to his voice implying that his apology didn't have to be taken for one, if Harry didn't want to… It only served to unnerve and confuse the younger Vykélari further as it seemed. That was fine, Draco told himself, Harry would warm up to them in time.

"You agreed to call me Draco."

Harry stopped in between steps to glare at him. "Fine, Draco. But stop staring at me!"

Blaise chuckled lowly just as he held the door towards a dining room on the eastern side of the manor open for Harry and waved him through with a graceful hand gesture before following him.  
"He is staring, because you look beautiful." He offered, delighting in the indignantly embarrassed blush it got him and while his fiancé was still staring at their charge, proving that he was not at all sorry, he took Harry's hand and - despite the other's best attempts at pulling it away instantly, managed to press a light kiss onto the knuckles. Harry hissed and immediately snatched his hand away the moment the Italian released it. Even the skin on his ears and neck had flushed by now. Blaise never would have thought that he would find something like that adorable, but with Harry, it was.  
"I'm not a girl! I don't even know if I believe you that I am what you say I am. So don't you treat me like one!"

Blaise chuckled lowly. "I assure you Harry, if you were a girl I would treat you rather differently. I am perfectly bent." With that he flashed a winning smile at their guest.

For a moment, Harry seemed to be imitating a carp, his mouth opening and closing in rapid succession, and he was doing a pretty good job of it, too, aside from his slightly flushing cheeks. But Draco's half-suppressed chuckle tore him from his stupor.  
"Well, I am not!" he spat, turning towards the round glass table in the middle of the room, that had an oversized black amphora as a base.

Silently Draco and Blaise watched the Gryffindor pull out one of the white leather chairs jerkily and sit down, the movements shouting the brunet's irritation out to the world in no uncertain manner.

Well, that was a problem… Draco and Blaise shared an alarmed glance as they approached the table also and seated themselves on the opposite side of Harry.  
"Harry," Draco started cautiously. "Are you really, absolutely, positively straight?"

"That isn't any of your business!" Harry growled with a pointed glare and grabbed a slice of ciabatta out of the silver, filigree breadbasket.  
Blaise shook his head. "I don't want a repeat performance of yesterday, but I have to say this: You won't be able to settle down with Ginevra Weasley or with any other woman. They will not let you."

"You mean _you_ won't let me." Harry said, not looking up from the ciabatta that he was currently soaking with honey. Idly Draco wondered if he should tell the brunet that the honey and the marmalade were meant to go with the cornetto and the cheese and jam were intended for the ciabatta. Really, to slather a slice of such a fluffy bread with the sticky, half-liquid pine honey … he just knew a cleaning spell would be in order afterwards…

"No, Harry, every dominant Vykélari between 17 and 50 will not allow you to. And while most maybe wouldn't try to force your hand, there are enough who would. If you married a woman, be assured she wouldn't survive the first week of your marriage."

Finally Harry looked up, the redness draining from his cheeks. "What?" He whispered.

Draco held his gaze. He knew that although Harry was shocked to the core by his statement, he was now enough in control of his emotions that he would search his eyes for a sign that Draco was lying. If he looked away, Harry would not believe him, and he _needed_ to believe him. It would do none of them good if they coddled the brunet. "They would murder her, Harry, in order to get to you. I'm sorry, but it had to be said."

Harry's eyes seemed to tear up but Draco couldn't be sure, as fast as the Gryffindor turned his head away from them. But he heard him swallow audibly and his breathing hitched.

Two years ago he would have sneered at the other teen, would have taunted him gleefully for the weakness he was showing. He would have taken the image of the memory and stored it into the mental file he kept on each of his enemies, waiting to be used later, when it would be beneficial.  
Now, with the prospect of having the younger Vykélari as a mate, a real mate, and with Severus's words still haunting him, he couldn't do it. There was no logical explanation, nothing that would have sounded reasonable to him anyway and yet ... he just couldn't.

But he had no idea what to do either.

Next to him, Blaise slid out of his chair and approached the younger Vykélari. Ignoring the unimpressive glare of swimming eyes, he gently turned the other's chair around to face him and hunkered down in front of the brunet.  
"It won't come to that. If you don't want to mate, you don't have to, you will always find a safe spot in Lanai Manor." Reassuringly the tanned Italian laid one of his hands on Harry's knee and squeezed gently.  
"Don't think of it now and don't pressure yourself. You've been through so much... let Draco and me show you around the Manor today and then, if you are not too tired, we could go swimming - either in the pool or the sea, whatever you prefer. Tomorrow you should be rested enough that we can explore your magic together and maybe fly a bit. You have no obligations here, Harry. Try to enjoy it and take all the time you need to familiarize yourself with your new abilities."

Harry didn't look at them as he nodded his consent, his jaw clenched. Draco watched him silently, knowing that the Gryffindor was only further slipping away from them, thinking that they lied, but not knowing how to reach him.  
Maybe Ives would be able to convince the obstinate Gryffindor, and if not, well, there was always veritaserum, even though that might lead to rather awkward situations if Harry exploited the chance to ask them any questions he could while they were unable to lie to him; he'd rather use that option as a last resort…

* * *

They stayed true to their word: after an opulent breakfast, Blaise and Draco spend the forenoon showing Harry around the manor. Blaise was rather taken up in his explanations, telling the other two teens of this event or that or simply made them aware of some detail or the other.  
The manor that had been in the hands of Vykélari for ages had been build to accommodate their needs or offer certain luxuries that would not be needed by normal wizards. That ranged from frescos which had been worked out with a special kind of paint that showed ultraviolet over wide balconies that would allow a Vykélari to land and start from comfortably even with their huge wingspan, and to walls that had been spelled soundproofed. When Harry asked why anyone would need that, Draco explained that most Vykélari tended to keep their improved visual, acoustic and tactile senses permanently.  
Since they weren't linked with a physical feature that any other wizard would be able to see and were an immense advantage during a sudden attack, a duel or simply to take notice of things that weren't meant to be noticed (here Draco smirked and winked at Harry conspiratorially, who merely was reminded of Fred and George and their use of extendable ears and thought that maybe they would be able to hit it off with Draco if not for their tiresome family feud…), most Vykélari accepted the minor disadvantages that came with oversensitive senses.

At last Blaise led the way to the roof of the building where a narrow spiral staircase lead to a spacious roof garden. It had a spectacular view over the coast and the cyan water that slowly blended into the dark blue of the open ocean. And to the eastern side ascended a hillocky landscape behind which the Apennines would be visible on clear days, as Blaise promised him, his dark eyes shining in a contagious way that made Harry forget himself and smile for a moment, before he remembered where he was and who he was with. Yet though Blaise continued with his monologue, still completely unaware, Harry's eyes met Draco's for but a moment and Draco smiled back gently, genuinely and Harry just knew his school nemesis had seen…  
He looked away quickly again, his heart beating a little bit faster.

"This roof garden has been used by my father's ancestor's for generations to teach newly fledged Vykélari how to fly. I myself learned it here, too. My cousin taught me and he was also the one who guided me through my transformation."  
"Can you imagine soaring towards the sun, when it is setting there over the endless water, not on a broom but on your own wings? I wasn't strong enough to really fly at first and just floated downwards until I landed with a splash. I swear my cousin had way too much fun on my expense."

"Was it…" Harry fell silent, unsure whether to ask.

Blaise and Draco turned to him, blinking against the sun. "Was it what?"

"Nothing… It's just, you know, it was … really painful…" he shrugged, dropping his gaze along with his voice.

Draco took a step towards him and tilted his head. Was that one of the reasons why Harry felt so reluctant to accept his inheritance? Was he … _traumatized_ by his transformation?  
"I don't know, Harry. Normally you would have been given a drug prior to the transformation that would have made you insensitive to the pain. But as no one knew that you would transform … was it that bad?"

Harry shrugged, looking towards the sea helplessly. "It was like a very strong, localized Cruciatus, you know? And I … I just … it took away my magic and my vision and everything else … and I just didn't know what was happening … I thought that maybe I was dead." He muttered at last, somewhat embarrassed.

"Merlin, Harry!" Blaise whispered and took a step forward, wishing to envelop the Gryffindor in his arms but not knowing if he'd be welcome to do so after Harry had spurned all bodily contact with them. After being imprisoned in a cupboard and then a room he had now been imprisoned in silence and numbness.

"I'm sorry that your transformation went like that. It's … meant to be a joyous event. My parents were so proud when I did, I … I think they were not sure I would be powerful enough." Draco murmured, his guilt pushing him towards honesty. He hadn't thought about what that experience might have done to the submissive, not for a moment. He had just expected Harry to pick himself up and go on, like he always did, had expected him to fight them and with time, to give in to them.  
How naïve he had been.  
He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Would it help you if you could speak with someone who has … been through something similar?"

"What? No … no, no. I'm fine!" Harry turned towards them and then he blinked in rapid succession as if he had noticed only now that they were even here.

Silence spread between the three of them, not awkward, nor comfortable, only full of unspoken thoughts and regrets and unsaid apologies.

Finally Blaise nodded. "If you say so."  
A silent communication passed between Draco and Blaise and the decision not to press further. One day the smaller brunet would open up to them and when he would tell them his secrets of his own free will … that was a goal worth pursuing. Another challenge of another kind.

"Come," Draco waved the Gryffindor to follow. "Let us have the house elves prepare us something for lunch and go swimming. You'll like it: the sea is warm and all cyan blue…"  
He stopped as Harry tilted his head, his brow knitted in obvious bewilderment over the blonde's behaviour. Well that might be somewhat deserved.

But Draco just smiled. Maybe this would become a difficult long-time project just like that damned vanishing cabinet; but this time, he was sure, the result would be much more satisfying.

* * *

Soon they rushed their charge to his chambers and Draco vanished behind the curtain to the side of Harry's bed to choose a bathing suit for him.

As Harry found out, the curtain hid an oversized walk-in closet, its walls covered with dark wardrobes and as soon as Draco and Blaise left him alone to give him some privacy and he started to change, a set of five frameless, high mirrors surrounded him in a lose circle, turning and dipping with his head movements just so that he was able to examine himself from every angle.  
It kind of freaked him out a bit and Harry hurried to finish, his face as red as a radish. He had always found himself too thin, too small and although the muscles of his body were defined, he didn't think that they looked at all … _impressive_. He was an endurance athlete, trained by Quidditch and war and his body bore testimony to that. Draco and Blaise were both taller and broader and he just knew it would make him even more self-conscious.

But once he stepped onto the terrace where they had had lunch the day before and met the two Slytherins in their tight, square cut bathing suits, his mind went too blank to be self-conscious at all.  
Up close, half-naked and bathed in the golden light of the early afternoon sun, they reminded him of an image of Michelangelo's David, or at least Blaise did with his locks. Sure, his face was a little bit more … angular, his hair not as curly, his body definitely darker and he wore that dark vine red bathing suit that was … too tight to hide anything. But there were similarities that made his whole body tighten…  
And Draco, though his built was a little bit slighter, his skin was as pale as the marble that the famous sculpture had been made of. It glowed, too, as if covered in lotion and it was, probably: with such pale skin the blonde would surely need sun blocker after all.  
Harry really tried to keep his eyes away from the blue-grey suit that hugged his slender hip like a second skin. But his well-muscled stomach and chest were not much better either, and the smile that just tugged at his lips at seeing Harry, _him_, certainly wasn't. He was running out of options to look at…

He knew that he hadn't lied earlier: he wasn't bent, he certainly liked women, too, and he had never been much interested in men before, but damnit, could anyone fault him if the vision in front of him made his stomach do summersaults and his pulse flutter? And something else swell traitorously…

"Are you ready?"

"Huh?" God, he sounded like such a fool.

"Are you ready to go?" Draco repeated, though he tried to hide his amusement. He was too relieved and pleased that Harry seemed to be attracted to him and Blaise despite of his earlier claim to be straight to destroy it now with ill-placed insensitivity.

Harry nodded quickly, hoping the two Slytherins would blame the heat for his flushed skin. At least they didn't make any derogatory comment…  
But he could feel their eyes wandering over his body appreciatively and rather self-consciously he put his arms around his naked chest. They might be handsome, very handsome even, but he was rather uncomfortable with all the attention. In the past it had always been him who had had to do the pursuing, not that he had been very good at the whole seduction thing, but still …

Demonstratively he tugged in his chin and walked past the two Slytherins towards the stone path leading down the garden terraces towards the beach down below.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I meant to do more, I really did, but exams are starting soon and I don't have much time at the moment, sorry! But I didn't want to leave you waiting for so long, so I cut the chapter short… I might not be able to update next week for the same reason. Please bear with me, for a while.


	11. Concessions

**CHAPTER 11: Concessions**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you for the reviews, everyone!

I don't usually respond to anonymous reviews, since I am of the opinion that anyone who really wants to deliver well-meant and honest critic can do so leaving his/her name so that the author can respond appropriately. That this is even possible is a real deficiency of this site. Nonetheless I got a rather elaborate anonymous review that contained some concerns and objections, delivered rather politely, that I'd like to address (now completely, since I found the rest of the review :) ).  
**About Harry's behaviour:** Yes, Harry behaved rather differently in the first chapters, but that has its reasons: In the very first chapter he was rather neutral in regards to Draco and Narcissa and defended them because he thought they didn't deserve the accusations of being Death Eaters or to go to prison for that. And then later in the hospital wing he was very insecure and scared by his first transformation, having lost his magic and his senses and not knowing why. When Draco and Blaise helped him there, he had no reason to really distrust them, especially after they helped him. But then they kidnapped him and took his freedom and that is nothing that someone like Harry would ever accept. Additionally he is far out of his comfort zone what with being confronted with an inheritance that turns his whole life upside down and with finding out that two guys want to mate with him while he never even considered himself bi, let alone gay. So naturally he rebels. That is "what happened to that character".  
**About Draco's and Blaise's behaviour:** Yes you are right, too, Blaise and Draco are behaving like real bastards right now and they will have to change that for Harry to fall in love with them. For now there is only physical attraction. But I always try to keep everyone in character and Draco is not a nice guy, damn it he broke Harry's nose once and left him under the Invisibility cloak… honestly, what did you expect? Personally I really don't like the stories in which Draco is just a misunderstood poor teenager who couldn't hurt a fly and always just pretended to be a total ass in school. That is just too ooc for me…  
But they are already coming around, you just have to look a little bit closer: when Harry tried to flee they were not angry over the attempted escape, only that he endangered himself. When Harry attacked Blaise, Draco didn't even lecture him about harming his fiancé, just that Harry exhausted himself dangerously. In the privacy of their own minds they resent the objectification of Harry that their parents are doing. And they were very, very angry when hearing of the abuse Harry endured at the hands of the Dursley's which was also the first time that Draco showed some regret over his deeds in school.  
I really don't know where you got the notion that they ever laughed at his pain or fear. Draco almost attacked the healers because they hurt Harry. Blaise was irritated with Draco for agitating him. Later during the first day at Lanai Manor, both Draco and Blaise simply underestimated the trauma that Harry had been through, they had no idea that the transformation would be that painful, as both of them had received pain blockers prior to their own transformation and both of them never really thought about how traumatic it might have been to lose your senses and your magic without knowing what was happening. They merely teased him good-naturedly without bad intentions, always in a flirtatious manner and not about the transformation per se.  
And they never taunted Harry for not having some information (well, okay, Draco did that in the hospital, but he was rebuked for that by Blaise), Draco trounced him for accusing them for not giving him the information when they had planned to do it but had been unable to because Harry had run.  
I know that Draco and Blaise justify their growing affection towards Harry with their ambition and their greed for power, but as some readers noticed (with my beloved Obsessed362 leading the way - I so adore your reviews :D ) those are little more than excuses because for someone as proud as they are it is sometimes hard to admire a former enemy.  
Furthermore the fact remains that you are judging them after only one night at the hospital and one afternoon and morning in Lanai Manor. Will you PLEASE give me the time to sort things out?  
Honestly did you expect them to be courting after not even 24 hours? Jesus…  
**"The fact that they entered the 'relationship' only to appease their families and to gain his power, with little care for him as a true mate, will never change, no matter how much any of them come to love (or "love") each other"**  
Yes, and what's the problem? I find that much better than the usual I-only-love-him-because-my-instincts-tell-me-to routine, because honestly, every intelligent being manages to mostly overrule its instincts. And since I want a Draco/Blaise/Harry pairing without the shock of an initial 180° character change, there really is no possibility for a love at first sight story. If that bothers you so much, I'd advise you to stop reading.  
**"The moment they find out about his abusive past, they cease to see him as a person and now as a creature to pity/protect/tease/manipulate"**  
I really don't think you did more than skim over that chapter, did you? Let me answer this with a quotation of my own: "He wanted to ask how his godfather could have still been so horrible to Harry when he had known of all those things, he wanted to search the younger Vykélari and hide him away from such horrors. He wanted to _hurt_ those people… And he had no right to do any of those, after all he had done to Harry during their days at Hogwarts."  
Really, correct me if I'm wrong but to me that doesn't sound like what you described.  
**A Stockholm Syndrome induced relationship:**I'm certainly not intending to write a story that leads to such a kind of relationship. But it's funny that you mention it, since I planned to use that key-word at a later time, but not like you probably think…

I really hope I managed to alleviate at least most of your concerns and that you continue reading and reviewing.  
Just two things: Scientists found out that critic is best accepted if one wraps it up in the popular sugar-lemon-sugar packing, which means you should give a compliment, then the critic and then another compliment. Then my ego would have been less crushed and I would have felt less defensive of my story and I wouldn't have had to write that essay above… ;-)  
And in any case it really seems to me that you read the story, got angrier and angrier with the main characters, which made you skim over the rest of the story (especially chapter 9 and 10), which in turn lead to you not grasping the subtle changes those characters went through. Correct me if I'm wrong but that is the impression your review gave me.

There are some things you will never see in my stories: pinky fluff and easy-to-love, perfect and totally transparent main characters among them. I generally trust my readers to read attentively enough to be able to notice logical contradictions (which in this case would be the way Draco and Blaise objectify Harry in their thoughts, but are angry when their parents do that or when he is treated badly). But I am happy to explain further when someone voices his or her concerns in their reviews. But I'd like you to give your name when doing that so that I can respond without having to spam all the other readers.

So, I hope you will like this chapter better…

* * *

After Blaise and Draco had secured their wands in holsters at their forearms, the three of them made their way down the several terraces that formed the extensive gardens of Lanai Manor; past patios that snuggled into the earth and the plants as if they had always been there and grown with them, almost blending into the nature. Most often the seating arrangements were wrought of intertwined living plants or carefully hewn into larger boulders; white or fawn or light blue cushions seemed to invite the onlooker for a rest and the little rivulet of a stream danced along downwards next to them in a glittering, silver ribbon, splashing serenely and sometimes crossing their path, a quiet companion on their way to the beach.  
Harry had no eyes for the beauty around him, though, he was too much aware of the two pairs of eyes that hadn't left his body at all (more like his backside), of that he was sure. He was still hugging himself as he tried to ignore the two Slytherins to the best of his ability - which was a futile endeavour at best - because if he didn't do it, he would have no idea whatsoever about what to do with his arms and hands; and he kept his eyes trained on the narrow but well-kept path of pale stone slabs, because he knew he might stumble and fall otherwise and he really didn't need or want one of his captors to rush to his _rescue_…

Therefore he was more than relieved when the smooth slabs of the path finally vanished beneath a heavy coat of crystalline sand and the beach unfurled before him like a blanket, encapsulated by a towering rock formation to the left and a short, thinly wooded tongue of land to the right of the small bight that surely didn't measure more than 200 metres in length. The water that greeted them with a merry, faint rumbling of waves that had been caused by the light ocean breeze, was clear and turquoise and seemed to beg them closer as it gently lapped against the almost white sand glistening in the sun. Sand that felt warm and fine-grained under Harry's feet and he curled his toes into it, enjoying the feeling as it moved beneath his feet and between his toes.  
He had never been away from the British Islands before and this … this was peaceful and serene and beautiful and exotic and … and as he looked at the bight and the endless sea beyond it he found he really loved that cerulean blue.

Harry was still taking in the breathtaking sight when a shadow rushed into his field of vision. Instinctively his body went into battle mode and he started to recoil from the possible threat and turn towards it while ducking down to present less of a target. He had barely begun to execute the movements when it registered with him that it was only Zabini sprinting past him and towards the water, his feet digging into the sand with each strong step.  
Then suddenly the dark skinned Italian jumped, propelled himself into the air and a mass of feathers erupted so quickly from his back that it was impossible to follow or understand the process that caused two gigantic wings to carry him upwards, not much, barely three metres at best. Harry gasped at the sight and took a step back, bumping against another muscled chest.  
"Careful!" Malfoy murmured as he steadied Harry with his hands on his upper arm. He was grateful that the other man refrained from a more intimate touch, that he didn't try to lay his arms around his chest and that he let go after but a moment, but Harry felt unable to turn around with the transfixing sight of those enormous copper and bronze and golden wings beating strongly in front of him.

Dear Merlin, they were gorgeous and the way that each feather shifted with each movement, completely in tune with their owner's body was nothing less than amazing. Harry had never even seen his own wings fully, only a part of them the one time in his room - no, the room that Zabini and Malfoy had given him - and then only while they had surrounded him like the cocoon of a silkworm…  
He had always thought that flying on a broom was the closest there was to freedom and it was exhilarating to sense the magic-imbued polished wood beneath his body and feeling so close to it that it was as if he were a part of that magical flying tool for the duration of some precious seconds. But seeing Zabini now, completely in harmony with his wings, he knew that this would never even compare to flying on a broom and he might be damned, but he yearned to be able to fly like that even while he yearned to be just a human once more and the battle between those desires tore at him mercilessly.

Longingly he watched the dark skinned Italian soar for some precious moments in the lightly, salty ocean breeze and then there was a barely perceptible shift in the position of the long feathers and Zabini pulled his appendages close and tipped over into the ocean, some fifty metres away from the shore and with barely a splash at all he vanished into the blue and suddenly, Harry found himself able to breathe again.

"Show-off!" Draco shouted next to him, one hand at his mouth and forming a speaking trumpet, uncaring that his fiancé was still beneath the water surface and therefore unable to hear him. But he grinned as he turned to Harry and shrugged.

"He does that." Was his only explanation, the tenderness in his voice a little bit surprising for the younger Gryffindor. So far the two Slytherins hadn't been very affectionate towards each other in his company, too much of their focus had rested on him and Harry had somehow just assumed that it was the nature of their relationship, that they weren't really in love; after all, everything the Slytherins usually did seemed to serve a specific purpose, didn't it? But hearing the tenderness with which Malfoy spoke of his lover and remembering the way that Zabini had protected the blonde in the hospital without hesitation when Harry had bitten him made him reconsider.  
Maybe the two of them aspired to more than a convenience marriage after all.

"Come on, Harry, let's join him now, or he will swim out so far, we won't ever manage to catch up with him until he comes back." Again an almost gentle smile tugged at Malfoy's lips as he turned to walk towards the sea, his lower legs pushing waves of water. "He does that, too."

With a calming breath, Harry swallowed all his objections and followed Malfoy's pale figure into the water. But he couldn't brush off the feeling of being pushed into a corner; vaguely he wondered if he shouldn't have managed to get used to that by now, and yet…  
"You know, Malfoy…"

The blonde looked back at him over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, and the grey eyes flashed disapprovingly.

"Fine," Harry snapped, "_Draco_ then. But you know bribery will get you nowhere with me, right?"  
Immediately after the words had left his mouth, Harry regretted having spoken them. He had wanted to keep low and bide his time, had wanted to lull his captors into a false sense of security until the rare and unexpected chance at escape presented itself… but they kept unbalancing him and it was just so easy to fall back into his used patterns where the blonde, his former school enemy, was concerned.  
As Malfoy turned around to face him with an almost curious expression while he continued to walk backwards, Harry knew he couldn't back down anymore.

"What bribery?"

Harry huffed. Wasn't that obvious?  
"Bringing me here, trying to charm me with all that luxury, from my rooms to the food and this … all this…" Harry waved at the nature around him that looked as perfectly peaceful and gorgeous as any postcard he had seen before. Why else were they trying so hard to enchant him with the grandeur that he could have permanently in his life if he only gave himself.

Infuriatingly, Malfoy regarded him with a genuinely amused expression now, as if he found his naivety endearing. "You think this was bribery?"

"Wasn't it?" Harry countered challengingly, not really understanding when Draco flashed him a brilliant smile, his eyes gleaming. He didn't know that the blonde relished in those moments of what he believed to be inconsequential banter.

"In fact, sweet, it wasn't. Did it ever occur to you that maybe we did nothing but be the hosts to an honoured guest? Nothing we gave you was really that extraordinary."  
By now they were far enough in the water that it reached their hips, lapping gently at their skin, pleasantly cool and distracting. Draco idly let his arms move around his body in an implied circle, the tips of his fingers grazing the water surface just barely so, as he watched Harry curiously.

"I'm not your guest, though." The brunet pressed out, and really wasn't that the core of all the disputes between him and the two dominants? That he was indeed their captive and had no choice at all, no matter if it concerned staying at the manor or interacting with them or having them teach him.

The blonde lowered his gaze with a tiny, absent-minded smile. "No, I guess you are not. But since nothing here will be to your detriment, why don't you try to enjoy it?"

Because all of their gifts were not given without an ulterior motive, Harry wanted to snap at him. If not for his unexpected inheritance he wouldn't even be here, hell he would probably not even be on speaking terms with the two Slytherins. And the problem was that he knew just what that ulterior motive was and it was nothing that he felt able to give. It was as if they had presented him with a formal contract where they were to give him whatever luxury they could and in return he was to give himself and he felt as if he would have to, if he accepted their poisonous gifts.

"I can't give you _anything_ in return."  
From the way Harry emphasized it, Malfoy couldn't misinterpret the meaning of those words. But the blonde only tilted his head back for a moment, eyes directed into the sky. One again Harry marvelled how pale those eyes were in such an angle, seemingly completely without an iris. It was rather fitting for demon, he guessed. "And I told you time and time again that we don't expect you to. If you just can't accept it as a gift, if you really need to, you may see it as an offer of amends for your not quite voluntary stay."  
And then he looked at him as if it was a most gracious offer.

Harry blinked, outraged and stunned at the same time. The bastard didn't even _pretend_ to be sorry at all for robbing Harry of his freedom! "You are such a bloody asshole, Malfoy!"  
And with that Harry turned and made his way towards the beach again, angrily splashing through the salty water, hating the fact that it gave him so much resistance as if the ocean itself wanted him to remain.

"Stop Harry!" Malfoy called out behind him, his voice tense, but with a pleading note to it. "Please stop!"

His whole body tense, Harry obliged the Slytherin and looked back to where the blonde still stood, hip deep in the cerulean sea, frowning at Harry in confusion and irritation, one hand ruffling through his normally impeccable hair in obvious frustration. "What did I say now?"

Harry huffed and his mouth tightened to a thin line, more annoyed now that the bastard really didn't seem to know what was bothering him than with the earlier comment. "You just don't get it!"

"What?" The blonde exclaimed, taking a step towards the Gryffindor but stopping immediately when Harry held up a hand warningly, telling him to stop.

"You are such a bloody, insensitive prick!"

Malfoy growled lowly, now clearly irritated himself. "What the hell did I do? I tried everything to reassure you and you just…"

"You don't even _care_ that all this is against my will!"  
Harry's shout echoed through the bight like the shockwave of a powerful explosion.

* * *

Draco gulped and blinked, too much taken aback to do anything but stare at the seething Gryffindor in front of him, watching the way his fists clenched and unclenched in rapid succession at his side. The way the tendons in his throat became visible as he tensed his jaw and how the green eyes seemed so intent on burning him alive. It was painfully obvious that Harry was about to bolt again, not because of fear or insecurity but because of hot, bitter rancour and rage.  
An ice-cold barbwire seemed to curl around and into his intestines at that thought and slowly he became aware of just how much they had screwed up so far.

From the beginning on Severus had been right: Harry felt as if they had bullied him into staying, and he was right of course since he really didn't want to be here and whatever they did, whatever they gave him would not placate him in the least. He had disregarded his godfather's opinion because he had thought that the man was too biased by his hate and now it was costing Blaise and him.

"I would… You should know that if it had been possible at all, Blaise and I would not have brought you here against your will."

"So you keep telling me." It somehow sounded wrong when Harry was sneering. He wanted the forgiving, annoyingly sympathetic man back who even defended his enemies in court and had returned his wand to him, even though he didn't have to do it.

"We wouldn't have!" No, he'd rather courted the Gryffindor properly like any pureblood would have done, he would have taken him on night flights along the coast of England, the pounding sea and thundering waves beneath them while they soared close to the chalk cliffs under the stars, weaving streams of colourful magic into the darkness. He would have showered him with gifts, magical and beautiful and so rich that it would have taken Harry's breath away and made his eyes gleam like emeralds in adoration, he would have protected him and been so forthcoming and gentle, he'd befriended that horrible weasel and the beaver and shown Harry how much he wanted him, wanted this to work and …

Oh, god.

Almost, Draco succumbed to the need of burying his face in his hands and groan in mortification. He was _displaying_, like a bird showing its brilliantly coloured feathers and even dancing for its chosen. How utterly _embarrassing_!  
Blaise would have to be made aware of that, they would have to watch out for themselves … Draco didn't want to subdue and practically enslave the Gryffindor, but he didn't want to be enslaved either by the force of their instincts, and from what he had just felt mere seconds ago, that was a terrifyingly real possibility.

He managed to recover enough and in time to form at least a coherent sentence, even if he had to look away. "If we would have approached you in England and given you all the space you desire, someone else would have taken you away. And that … that might have been much worse … for you."

"And you expect me to believe that? You are lying, you've always been good in your scheming and…"

That was enough. Harry might have the right to be angry with them, but he had no right to insult him like that. "I am not lying! Do you want me to take verita-serum?" He asked challengingly. "I would if that was what it would take for you to believe us."  
Draco locked gazes with the brunet, engaging him in a staring contest and he felt oddly reminded of the times they had faced each other in the corridors of Hogwarts. He found he didn't like the analogy. "I would. Just say the word!"

Harry's mouth fell open in surprise and he stared at Draco apprehensively, shaken, as if a major detail of his world picture had just proven to be nothing more than a well-cast illusion. And Draco took hope the longer the silence spread between them. It made him believe that Harry was well aware of what a concession the Slytherin was making: the truth serum would not only give him the possibility to draw every single secret from his former enemy, it would leave him almost mindless and helpless before him.

The Gryffindor looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze for another second, but at least he didn't seem inclined to run any more.

He wasn't sure how much longer they would have stayed like that; it already felt like half an eternity as it was, when he heard Blaise coming up behind him, the water splashing around him as he walked towards them and already he felt more secure as he leaned towards the shoulder he knew would be there.  
Immediately a strong, warm hand gently stroked over his naked lower back. "What happened?"

From the way that Blaise spoke, mildly curious and a little bit impatient, Draco knew that he hadn't heard Harry's earlier shout, probably still diving in the salty wetness. He turned his head slightly to cast a quick glance at his dark skinned fiancé out of the corner of his eye, flashing him a warning of sorts before he answered as calmly as he could. "I asked Harry if he wanted to question us with verita-serum."

They had talked about that briefly last night and agreed that they would only use the truth serum as a last resort, because there were certain dangers to it and none of them would be comfortable to leave themselves so vulnerable and open to the Gryffindor. And even now all of Draco's instincts screamed at him to pull back the offer.  
That he was using it nonetheless would tell Blaise more efficiently just what the situation had deteriorated to than any other explanation ever could. Sure enough, Draco felt his lover's chest stop moving and his hand froze against his skin for a moment before it resumed to rub slowly over his back as if the Italian had needed to remind his body forcefully to continue working.  
But he stayed silent next to him, seemingly unaffected as he waited for the submissive to answer.

It didn't take long before Harry raised his head and Draco idly thought that if he had still had those gorgeous green feathers, they would have risen with it to adorn the black shock of hair with an emerald crown and make the Gryffindor appear taller than he actually was. He had found that endlessly endearing.  
"I want Hermione or Ron to tell me that." He said with a coldly calculative expression on his delicate face. "I will believe them."

Draco worried his lower lip and glanced over at his fiancé, since it was Blaise's home.  
But they should have known that Harry would ask for that at one point or the other, after all there was probably no one Harry trusted more; Draco doubted that even Harry's now former girlfriend Ginevra Weasley shared such a deep bond with the Saviour of the Wizarding World as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.  
It was a logical demand, too: by now, Granger would have acquired all the information she could possibly get and aside from giving Harry the pure facts, he would trust her and Weasley to consider the dangers very carefully, balance reasons and then advice him to the best of their knowledge and belief. Something he didn't trust Draco and Blaise to do at the moment.  
But if they let him speak with his friends, the consequences were not assessable at all. Maybe they were reasonable enough and warned him to stay at the manor but maybe they would aim for the opposite and Granger would manage to find a way for Harry to escape and convince him to do so.

In any case the fact remained that if they didn't find a way for such a conversation to occur, the submissive would turn away from them for sure. Because this was also a test for Draco and Blaise and if they didn't pass it, their chances with the young Vykélari were forfeited.

There really was no choice at all and so Blaise simply nodded as if there had never been a question whether or not Harry would be able to contact his friends. "Okay."

"Okay?" Harry repeated, more than a little bit surprised and wary at the easy victory. He really hadn't expected them to relent, not that fast, not without a fight.

"Yes, of course." Blaise smiled indulgently and laid his arm around Draco's shoulder, squeezing shortly to reassure the blonde that he knew what he was doing. "I will arrange for a meeting. Let us say the day after tomorrow?"

Warily Harry nodded and Draco and Blaise could see from the resolve in his expression that he would only believe them when he actually saw Ron and Hermione in front of him. That was fine, as long as he gave them that chance.

"Good" Blaise continued completely unperturbed. He merely grasped Draco's hand and pulled him backwards while he fixed Harry with a playful glance in a vague attempt of saving the mood "Now, do you want to come swimming?"

* * *

Although Harry had again been tense around them at first, and their conversations awkward at best, the rest of the day had done them much good and in the end it had even been rather enjoyable .

They had swum out rather far, even leaving the bight itself and Draco had casted a rather useful charm on Harry's eyes that erected an invisible barrier in front of them to keep the salt water away and reminded Harry of swim goggles, just without the bothering pressure sores and with a much larger field of vision. Another bubble soon encompassed his nose and mouth; it would always be filled with fresh air, as Draco assured him, and would enable him to breathe underwater. It was also less confusing than a complete bubble-head charm since it wouldn't distort the view underwater due to the moving and irregular surface of the bubble.

They had dived a few metres down to a rock formation at the ground of the sea that was overgrown with colourful corals and sponges and it was as if everywhere Harry looked he saw something moving: sea snails in the oddest shapes, jelly fishes that Blaise made him avoid, and a wide variety of other fishes that Harry had never seen before.  
Most of them the Slytherins insisted he not touch, not that he would have.

In the silence and tranquillity of the scenery it had been easy for Harry to momentarily forget about his dispute with the two Slytherins, especially when he saw how happy and serene and comfortable Blaise looked while he waved for Harry or Draco to look at something he found particularly beautiful or interesting. Draco would then always smile so affectionately and indulgently before swimming over to join his fiancé that it made something in Harry's stomach contract painfully and he would probably have felt as if he was intruding on them, had they not always turned to him with an expression as if asking him why he was taking so long to join them as well.

When they had finally returned to the beach, Harry had felt rather exhausted from swimming for so long and he was glad when he felt the sand under his dripping feet again. But he had decidedly rejected the concerned offers for support when he had dragged himself towards the three sun loungers that the house elves had brought and gratefully sank down on the fluffy towel that covered one of those on the side.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening down at the beach, being served iced tea and later a bake of rice pudding and peaches by the house elves.  
It didn't take long until Harry dozed off and he never knew how he got back to his rooms that evening.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Thank you for reading!  
And I'm sorry that it took me so long to update and I'm even more sorry to say that it might take a little bit until the next chapter once again. But my exams are rather close now, so please be indulgent…


	12. Ives

**CHAPTER 12: Ives**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you very, very much for the wonderful, reassuring reviews! They did me and this chapter a world of good!

**FANART:** I'm glad to finally be able to give you an image of Harry in his Vykélari form in answer to a request of Zale potter.  
You can find the link on my profile. I hope you like it!

* * *

War is imprinting, there is no denying that. It moulds a character in certain but very typical ways and the longer a person is subjected to the repercussions and the more directly impacted he or she is by those acts of war, the more palpable and long-lasting are those changes.  
It was undeniable that Harry had been in the literal centre of most events throughout the entire time of the war and even though it had been comparably short and though he was not really traumatized it certainly hadn't left him unaffected. His battle instincts and reflexes were well-marked nowadays and almost ever present when he was in the company of someone he didn't know very well or trust completely; and his prolonged existence as a fugitive had instilled in him a deep appreciation of the simpler luxuries that a regular daily routine could offer: he consciously enjoyed being able to sleep in on a soft mattress in a solid house more than he ever had, he appreciated a good, sometimes even a fancy meal whenever he wished it and which he didn't have to gulp down quickly and he loved taking long, hot baths or a relaxing shower instead of having to resort to cleaning charms.

It had also left him with a rather light sleep.

Therefore it came as no surprise that the soft but incensed voices drifting through the heavy curtains dividing his bed and living room had him wide awake and alert in an instant, while he kept his body relaxed and his breath even and calm in feigned sleep. Still, his heart beat madly in his chest like it had done not even three hours ago, when he had once again started up from his sleep due to a vivid nightmare. This time, though, he knew instantly that it wasn't a dream; someone was in an adjoining room to his own and from the sound of it, they were having a heated argument and possibly had less than his well-being in mind.

Upon noticing that he had some precious moments left to hide, Harry's first impulse was to jump up from where he laid so vulnerably on the bed, grab his wand and get into an easily defensible position; resolutely he opened his eyes and swept his gaze over the bedside table with trained efficiency, grazing the dark, the _bare_ wood where his wand should have lain. At that sight Harry swore and cursed mentally, but never one to just give up, he quickly decided to take cover behind the bed or a chair or use whatever hideout this room he was in would offer him and avoid a direct confrontation at all cost while attempting to escape. If his enemy was armed he had no chance to defend himself, no chance at all.

He got as far as sitting up when his mind caught up with his body's natural reaction and he remembered where he was. The room's arching design, the stylish furniture and the fresh, salty smell of the ocean drifting through his wide open windows told him all he needed to know.  
Immediately the tenseness drained from his body with a single breath of air that he hadn't even realised he had held in and he slumped back into the soft down pillows behind him. Raking one hand through his tousled hair Harry once again listened intently to the voices that appeared to come from behind the curtain to his living area and told himself to not be silly and calm down: who else could it be but Zabini and Malfoy after all, and Harry thought he could be fairly sure that they didn't wish him harm.

But still the hushed voices he heard appeared to be very much annoyed, even though he couldn't understand the words being said: they hissed and swelled and ebbed away again like the distant rumbling of a maelstrom, one Harry hoped wouldn't suck him in and crush and drown him. Because Harry could only think of one single reason why the two Slytherins might be mad at him, and that reason, while not truly scaring him, made him at least apprehensive of their reactions: they must have found out about that letter he had written to Hermione and Ron only the day before. Maybe the house elf he had asked for help had babbled his secret out to its master and now he would probably be put under constant supervision because of it. Maybe they would cancel the meeting with his friends now. Harry sighed while sitting up one again to confront the two Slytherins, only the thought of that made him miserable, he needed, really _needed_ to see them.  
Whatever consequences awaited him now, it was the only logical explanation for them to charge into his rooms and be so upset with him - at least Harry couldn't remember doing anything else that would warrant their ire since the evening before.

The evening before. Harry stopped short in his movements to fold back his blanket: coming to think about it, how the hell had he ended up in his room? The last thing he could remember was listening to Blaise and - _Zabini_ and Malfoy, talking quietly while he himself had dozed peacefully in the cosy sun lounger next to them, the soft white pillows had made him feel as if he was resting on a cloud while he enjoyed the fading warmth of the last sun rays. He had been so tired from swimming for so long, his body still recuperating, and their soft murmurs and the rushing of the waves and the light ocean breeze had lulled him to sleep better than any lullaby could have. Harry frowned as he recalled the vague feeling of gentle hands tucking a blanket around his body, the lingering warmth of another person's skin, the comforting, softly stroking touches as creases in the silken fabric were smoothed out and then when even the last of his muscles could not have relaxed any further… had there been lips pressing a kiss onto his hair? He thought that there might have been a soft movement, so soft that it had tickled him and he had tried to shoo the disturbance away with a careless hand wave … someone had chuckled… Harry frowned as he tried to recall more, but everything else seemed befogged. The whole end of the evening seemed to blur into the world of dreams and there was no telling what had been reality and what a far too real figment of his vivacious imagination.  
No, Harry really couldn't tell and that was like the splinter of an ice crystal in his bowels. Always, always Harry had been able to trust his instincts and now they seemed to betray him, not keeping him alert when he should have been. _That_ frightened him. He was in a foreign place with no one to trust but his own instincts and if they failed him now…

Or maybe he shouldn't be scared. Hadn't he tried to convince himself every so often that he had no reason to be intimidated where the two Slytherins were concerned? God, Harry just didn't know anymore.  
But in any case, a defiant little voice in his mind piped up, they really had to stop manhandling him when he was fast asleep. That was just downright creepy.

Harry shook his head once, twice, and tiredly rubbed over his face as he tried to clear his thoughts. He really needed to focus on the problem at hand and such an attitude wouldn't help him confront the two Slytherins.

Taking a deep breath to calm his anxiousness Harry brushed his unruly hair out of his face and slipped out of his king-size bed reluctantly, wondering what he would encounter the Slytherins' accusations with.  
In hindsight the letter had been a rash decision, one that he came to regret now that he had been caught (not that he would ever admit it to Draco and Blaise); but how could he have known that the letter would prove to be redundant because they would consent so readily to a meeting with his friends?  
Now he would have to face their anger, and probably even a little bit justified if everything was true what they had told him. Owls could be intercepted after all and there was no telling what might happen if other Vykélari found them; what if he had endangered them all?

Those were idle thoughts, of course, Harry knew that. What was done was done and he couldn't take it back any more. Still, he would hate being responsible for causing anyone harm.

His mind thusly occupied, Harry dressed quickly, taking the clothes laid out for him as a sign of goodwill and approached the solid wall of crème coloured damask curtains. When he carefully pushed the heavy fabric aside, his fingers gliding over the in-woven design of slightly paler swirls and what appeared to be a scheme of flowers, he was surprised to find the living area empty: the light flooded room still looked exactly the same as the time Harry had first seen it with its fair, heavily upholstered armchairs and couches, the fake fireplace and several tables and display cabinets with various blooming flowers, exotic art objects and heavy tomes.  
But the voices now reached his ears clearly and Harry could definitely make out Draco's growl from across the room. "Come out! Now!"

Confused, Harry gazed towards the open door of the study where the annoyed outcry had come from. Was Dra-Malfoy talking to him? He really didn't think that the blonde would address his lover that way, not after observing them the day before: those two seemed to genuinely care about each other. But if it wasn't Blaise Draco was addressing, who was it?

His answer came a moment later, in the form of another, unknown voice, though the words really baffled him even more.  
"I won't let myself be subjected to your fanatic redecoration!" A man hissed, lowly but clearly audible. Harry frowned in confusion: it was obvious that this was not Blaise talking: the voice was not as deep and silky as the Italian's baritone. And what was that about a redecoration?

"If you hadn't persisted on wearing that ghastly shirt for this painting, it wouldn't be necessary. Honestly, that colour is _smothering_ everything else in the whole study. Now leave those bushes, Ives…"

"I am _not_ a thing to be tailored to…"

"But you _are_ deluded…" the blonde sighed dramatically and then there was a small pause before Harry heard Draco take a calming breath and continue somewhat calmer and more politely but still a little bit uppish. "Ives, it might have escaped your notice, but you are a _painting_ and as such a part of the decoration of a room that needs to harmonise with the furniture, stylistically, thematically _and in terms of colour_! Though in all honesty I have no idea how to integrate you _anywhere_ wearing that … that _thing_. Honestly, if you just kept still and let me have a professional restorer tarnish the colour of your shirt so that it is … not quite so…" Harry could imagine the blonde wave one elegant hand in a complex, intricate pattern as he searched for the right words, his poise impeccable. "… _garish_!"

Almost Harry burst out laughing in amusement and overwhelming relief. By all the deities he did not really believe in, it seemed they were not angry with _him_ and that had to mean that his secret was still safe!  
Considering everything, he felt foolish now for his earlier bout of paranoia. Why should that elf bother its masters with reports on such a trivial matter as a letter?

But really, did Malfoy honestly argue with a portrait over interior design and fashion sense having the same meaning for a painting?

"It's not garish and I happen to like it." The other man said, obviously miffed now. "And really, it is just a piece of _clothing_!"  
"I really don't know how Adler managed to bear with you…" Draco stated, honest wonder colouring his voice. He really sounded quite mystified, as if he was talking about one of the great enigmas of humankind, Harry thought as he crossed the living area and quietly made his way towards the study, wondering who the unknown portrait was and why he was being brought here. Surely if it was meant to keep an eye on him it would have been hung up in his living area or his bed room?

"He loves me, Draco." The man said in answer to Draco's exclamation, calmly as if he had stated an axiom, an unchallengeable, irrefutable point of reason stifling every possible refutation.

And that made Harry pause along with everyone and everything else, waiting for the sudden silence to be broken, while he fleetingly wondered if Draco felt abashed. Harry himself couldn't help but feel envious with the way that unknown person had spoken, so secure in the love of someone else: it must be wonderful to have someone at your side who would support you through everything and give you all the freedom to let you be yourself, not smother you in expectations.  
Unbidden, the moments before the moon had risen a few days ago and triggered his transformation sprung to his mind, the last moments of a life as a relatively normal young wizard (aside from being the involuntary Saviour of the Wizarding World), when the lack of support from the Weasleys concerning the Malfoy trial had been his greatest problem. And wasn't there a touch of irony in that fact? In a way, most of his problems seemed to revolve around that family nowadays.  
But still, he would have wished to have at least Ginny's and Ron's acceptance that he needed to stand up for someone he considered to be if not innocent then at least not guilty. He understood that there was an ocean of bad blood and moral and societal differences between those two families that was too wide to have the Weasley's support in such an endeavour, but their acceptance would have been nice.

"Harry?"

Startled Harry looked up from where he stood not three metres away from the door to his study, encountering Blaise's tall form, the dark eyes regarding him concernedly. How long had he been standing there? It surely couldn't have been more than a few moments at the most…  
"Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step towards the younger teen. "You look tired. We didn't wake you, did we?"

Immediately Harry shook his head, allowing a smile to tug at his lips. "No," he lied.

"No as if in 'no, you are not alright' or 'no, we didn't wake you'?"

"No as if in 'you didn't wake me'," Harry specified, trying to look sincere. "I'm fine, really."

For a moment Blaise considered him critically and he seemed intent on inquiring further, so Harry interrupted him, not wishing to explain the nature of his nightmares at the moment.  
"Anyway, what are you doing here?" He asked, trying to look around the Italian's broad chest - now that Harry knew how much the other teenager loved swimming, that physique really came as no surprise anymore.

The view revealed nothing, but as Blaise looked at him, Harry found himself blinking against the small smile that shone like a sunlit black agate geode, open and bright and dazzling, which he was given as the Italian gestured towards the study. "We have a little surprise for you. Or rather: a surprise guest. Would you like to meet him?"

Before the Gryffindor had a chance to answer, Draco appeared behind Blaise, his gaze curiously guarded, his posture a little bit tense and Harry wondered when he had started noticing things like this on his former school enemy. "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning." He murmured in turn, his brow still creased as he regarded the blonde, trying to make sense of the mixed signals he was getting. It seemed odd that the two Slytherins should be so eager and yet so reluctant at the same time. "Soo … who is it?"

"I know that you said you didn't need to speak with someone who had lived through a similar situation," Draco began a little bit hesitantly and yet neither his voice nor his posture would have bespoken that he was not completely unperturbed, only the one second too many that he had waited before answering. "But one of my ancestors wished to speak with you nonetheless, to help you with all of this and answer any questions you might still have."

"We would have hung up the portrait in your living area as you'd be certainly more comfortable there but Draco thought you might not appreciate the loss of privacy." Blaise said not without a sparkle of amusement tingeing the timbre of his voice.

"I personally hate portraits in my private apartments." Draco continued as he shot his fiancé an annoyed glance. "There is nothing worse than your family spying on you in the one place that should be yours alone. And it is actually traditional to not have portraits in locations where they might pose a security vulnerability."  
His head held high, Draco turned towards Harry once more "Of course that would normally include the study, too. If you want to, we could have the portrait brought to one of the parlours…"

Harry gaped, couldn't do anything but. He had almost never experienced them as anything else than overbearing, obnoxious, smug and conceited, vain and utterly egoistical idiots. This amount of consideration - and even though Draco tried to be nonchalant about it and trivialize his efforts, Harry knew better after Blaise's remark - it was just so … _unreal_ and some part of him (the one that was not stunned into complete, heavy silence) was still searching for the catch. Was this yet another way to influence him and make him choose them as his mates? Or were they sincere?  
Warily Harry considered them, trying to gauge their expressions. If only Slytherins weren't in the habit of erecting masks of emotional void that looked as natural as a second skin…

"You want me to speak with him? Why?"

Blaise raised one hand in a placating manner. "Don't feel obliged to do so, Harry. But if you have questions you don't feel comfortable asking us, Ives, being a submissive himself, would surely be able to help you."

Harry hesitated, he was already in a minority here with the two Slytherins and he really didn't need another one to put pressure on him or trying to influence him. But right now the three of them had come to an unspoken armistice after Blaise and Draco had promised Harry a meeting with his friends; it was awkward and fragile, but it was there nonetheless and Harry thought that at least the other two teenagers wouldn't do something to really endanger it. If this Ives was here to try and win influence over him, then Harry would be prepared. This was a game two could play after all and if a little bit of acting would enable him to get more information and with it a more equal standing in this mess, then he was all in favour for it.

"Okay," Harry consented, "I will talk with him."  
And with that, he pressed himself past Blaise, who turned to escort him into the study with one hand hovering over the small of his back, Draco preceding them.

Harry didn't know what he had expected to see as Draco stepped aside and pointed towards a large painting to the side of the door with grand gesture and a "Harry, meet Ives Malfoy." But certainly not the handsome young man who looked at him with a mild, warm smile from out of a sea of rose bushes, the soft champagne colour of the blossoms bleeding into a bright red at the edges of each petal. At least he never would have guessed that the platinum blonde Slytherin who was a self declared enemy of the red haired Weasleys would have someone in his family tree with such a multihued mane of autumn hair.

"Finally Mr. Potter," The portrait smiled, "and I thought you would leave me waiting here. I'm pleased to meet you." He inclined his head slightly in greeting.

"I'm sorry he looks so out of place. Ives was most difficult and refused to cooperate." Draco said as he watched Harry. "I will do something about it if you want."

"Or you can have the house elves redecorate the study however you like." Blaise interrupted, raising an eyebrow at his fiancé, making Harry wonder for a moment what he was missing.

"It's fine like this." Harry murmured, and it honestly didn't bother him at all that the deep blue shirt was a glaring splash of colour in the otherwise sober and unpretentious room. He had thought it too stark anyway; of course it was a study and shouldn't be distracting, but really, Harry was rather used to chaos, having lived in a boys dormitory for so long and having spent so much precious time at the Burrow in Ron's room or the twins'; and one couldn't really say that living as a fugitive had been in any way conductive in bringing him up to be more orderly. Harry just couldn't help himself, but somehow it always reminded him of the Dursleys when an apartment was too neat; after all wasn't it alright if one could see that there were real people living in it?

"Alright, it is your room after all." Blaise said quickly and Harry thought for a moment that the Italian had merely answered so fast to keep his lover from saying anything, at least Draco looked as if it almost pained him to leave the room like this. It wasn't something that Harry could sympathise with but if it meant so much to the Slytherin, he wouldn't be opposed to a redecoration; whatever Blaise said, Harry didn't feel as if these rooms were _his_.

He would have offered Draco free rein, had not Ives interrupted that moment, making them all turn to him once more. "Draco, Blaise, why don't you have the house elves send a light breakfast up for Mr. Potter and leave us alone so we can talk undisturbed?"

Immediately Harry knew that this was not planned: next to him both of his hosts stiffened, their faces hardening into cold, unreadable marble. Curiously Harry watched from them to the portrait and back, and it made him intrigued: this Ives, this ancestor of Draco's seemed so unorthodox for a Malfoy, open and yet guarded, confident without being conceited and even though he was nothing more than a painting, it seemed he knew how to play them.

"We wanted to take Harry to the winter garden for breakfast." Blaise said a moment too late with a hint of a strained smile. Were they uncomfortable with leaving him alone with the other submissive, Harry wondered, astonished; but why then would they have brought him here?  
"You'll love it!" Draco assured him. "It is full of tropical plants that offer so much to see for a Vykélari's eyes."

Before he could answer, Ives interjected. "I'd like to speak alone with Mr. Potter, Draco. And later today there won't be much time. Besides I think Adler intended to speak with the two o you, so you might as well leave the concerns of the submissives to the submissives."

After what seemed like an eternity of icy staring, Draco finally nodded. "As you wish, Ives. Harry, if you want to, we can meet you afterwards and teach you a little bit about flying. I think we should still wait with the magic lessons until you are a little bit more rested."

"I don't need to learn how to fly." Harry said stubbornly through his bafflement over their behaviour. "I need to learn how to control my magic so that I don't attack random people."

His face easing into a gentle smile Blaise leaned forward to brush a lock of black silk out of the Gryffindor's eyes, the affectionate expression in the dark eyes causing a tinge of red to colour Harry's cheeks. "You should learn both, Harry. But if you don't want to, why don't you join us on a broom? I have some of the best models here."

"Even though he doesn't like them all that much." Draco teased.

"But you do." Blaise simply said, turning to press a deep kiss onto Draco's lips.  
Harry turned away in unease towards the portrait, blushing as he saw Ives watching him with interest.

"And Harry does, too. Now come, Dragon, we lingered long enough. I'll have breakfast sent up to you, Harry."  
And with that the two Slytherins left, leaving Harry alone with Ives.

In the sudden silence, Harry felt awkward, not knowing what to say, what to ask, how to behave. He was the only known submissive currently alive and truth be told, he had wished to get the advice of someone who damn well knew what he had gone through, but could he trust this stranger?

Slowly he made his way to the desk opposite of the painting and the door to sit down, wishing that the desk was closed at the front and wouldn't leave him so open to the portrait's view because he had acquired a habit of jiggling with his left leg whenever he was nervous and sitting and he wouldn't be able to do that now without betraying his feelings to Ives. He just knew that he would be all fidgety in no time…

"You know, I didn't learn how to fly until almost a year after my transformation, not until Adler found me out." The red-head said lightly as Harry sat down, his sharp eyes watching him attentively.  
"For almost a year I managed to hide what I had become."

Surprised, Harry looked up. "You didn't want to be a Vykélari?"

"No," the other submissive answered, "not a submissive one at least. It was not what I had wished for my life."

Harry lowered his gaze, not really sure what to think of that. At least he probably had his answer now why Blaise and Draco hadn't wanted him to talk to Ives alone for the first time.  
"But nonetheless you got mated to a Malfoy." He said and wondered if that was what he was supposed to learn: that there was no way out, that he had no choice in the end but to mate them.

"Yes I did." Ives said, his voice mild and soft. "Adler … he made me an offer I couldn't reject."

"He blackmailed you?" Harry exclaimed, horrified. He had always known that the Malfoy's were in no way a line of saints, but to do something like that… hadn't he said earlier that his husband loved him?

"He bought me over, in a way." Ives corrected with a somewhat tight smile.

Disappointment drenched Harry like cold rain and again he turned away from the other. Somehow he had expected better of Ives after what he had heard earlier. The submissive seemed so confident and down-to-earth; not at all like someone who was susceptible to bribery.  
His emotions must have been openly visible on his face because only a moment later Ives said with a voice like steel "Don't you judge me for yielding to his conditions, Mr. Potter! You may judge me for getting into the situation that forced my hand for that was indeed my mistake, but dare not judge me for righting it in the only way that was left to me!"

Harry kept his gaze lowered, not wishing to encounter the heated glare that he would surely see on Ives' face, nor wishing to talk about the other's problems, when he had enough of his own to deal with.

"I was forced into that mateship, not by my husband, but by circumstances. You are not. And I am here so that this won't change."

An uneasy snort escaped Harry's lips and he drew up his legs onto the chair. "I don't know, I feel pretty much pressured right now, by circumstances _and_ my would-be husbands."

For some moments, Ives let the silence between them spread as he considered the younger submissive. "Do you know why I asked to be brought here and be able to speak to you?"  
When Harry didn't answer, Ives continued nonetheless, his voice urgent. "Because Blaise and Draco said they would never force you, that they would never mate you if it was against your will."

Harry looked aside. They had already told him that, and it wasn't as if he thought they had lied to him, but still "They won't let me go, either." He bit his lip as he heard how bitter he sounded.

Ives sighed in the painting. "Mr. Potter, the laws concerning Vykélari mateships are horribly outdated, because there simply hadn't been any submissives in the last two hundred years, so no one bothered to change them. Dominants are allowed to collect you and use whatever method necessary to force you to mate. In some cases dominants did blackmail submissives into mateships by threatening loved ones and were never convicted. Who would you turn to, Mr. Potter? Who would you willingly endanger?"

Shaking his head Harry laid his arms around his knees, hugging them close. No, he didn't want to endanger anyone but … god, it was just such a mess.

"If I told you now how to force Blaise and Draco to let you go, would you leave?"

Instantly Harry looked up with an incredulous expression; was there even a question? "Of course I would!"  
He really couldn't believe the two dominants and Ives didn't at least exaggerate when they talked about what other Vykélari dominants would and could do; well that was a question he could ask Hermione the following day…

Ives nodded calmly, as if he had expected that answer. "Then I will offer you a deal. You will give my descendant and his fiancé the benefit of the doubt and an honest chance to court you. And you, in turn, will allow them to teach you about the ways of Vykélari with an open mind. In exchange, I will tell you how to leave them for good on the 31st of August this year, one day before the new school term starts. I hear Hogwarts will be reopened by then and allow for all those who weren't able to continue their education during the war to return for an eight year. In Hogwarts you will be a lot safer than anywhere else aside from a dominant Vykélari's home."

Open-mouthed Harry stared at the other submissive, not quite able to believe his ears. Was this offer a hoax? His eyes hushed from one point at the wall to another only to immediately abandon it again as if he was searching for something, maybe an anchor of some kind.

"51 days, Mr. Potter, then you will be free to go wherever you want. And in the meantime your friends will be safe and you will have the possibility to learn about your new powers. What do you say?"

An honest chance. That was all Ives had asked for his freedom. And he would have to accept his inheritance but only for those 51 days.

"Yes" he breathed, feeling a little bit faint. After what had seemed like an eternity of bad news and even bleaker prospects, this … this was exhilarating. "Yes!" He repeated a little bit stronger now, a bright grin tugging at his lips insistently.

"Very good, Mr. Potter." Ives smiled at him. "Very good."

"You promise, right?" Harry asked, still grinning from one ear to the other.

"I give you my word." The redhead grinned back, laying his right hand over his heart. "My word as a Prewett!"

Come again? Harry thought, Merlin, that guy managed to baffle and baffle him again. "A Prewett? But…"  
Molly Weasley's maiden name was Prewett…

"Yes, I know," Ives smiled a little bit sheepishly, pushing his long cascade of hair back over his shoulder. "You know one of my elder brother's descendants. His line never showed the active submissive traits though, and now the male line is extinct after Molly's brothers Gideon and Fabian died. I was very sorry to hear that."

Strangely, Harry believed him without a doubt. "Did you ever meet them?"

"Yes, I did. They had another painting of me which I sometimes visited. It was kept for possibly emerging submissives so that I might guide them after their inheritance, but that proved to be unnecessary in the end." Ives frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know what happened to it, I can't visit it anymore and I can't help but think that Molly destroyed it after her brothers' murder. She was … uncomfortable having the painting of a Malfoy in her home and I guess it reminded her too much of what she had lost."

"They never spoke of you." Harry said, more to himself then to Ives, but the other man laughed nonetheless. "Why would they, Mr. Potter? I died almost 300 years ago."

"Oh." Harry said, feeling a little bit foolish. Of course the other submissive would be rather old, after all hadn't Draco and Blaise told him that the last submissive had lived and died all but two centuries ago? Yet he simply hadn't thought of it...

"You know, you can call me Harry."

Ives smiled. "Another deal then: I will call you Harry and you will never call me Malfoy. I love my husband, learned to love him, really, and I loved many of our common descendants, but aside from Draco I have grown to really dislike the younger generations."

Harry grimaced. "I know what you mean, Lucius Malfoy is…"

"Horrible, I know. If not for Adler's painting threatening him with terrible revenge, I'm sure he would have burnt my painting already. He wanted me to spy on the living Prewetts through my other painting during the first war and when I refused … well, he pretty much has hated me since then."

"He wanted you to _what_?"

* * *

When the house elves finally brought breakfast, Ives was still entertaining Harry with more or less embarrassing stories about the respective Malfoys and continued to do so throughout breakfast until Draco and Blaise returned a little bit over an hour later, and even though his hosts threw murderous glares at the cheekily grinning, red-haired submissive, Harry felt lighter than he had in a very long time.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I am so, so sorry that there was no kiss Morianna, I really tried but the opportunity just didn't come up. But I already have something in mind, so…  
Anyway, I dearly hope you liked the chapter and that you liked the pictures and if so, please leave a review! It's the only kind of payment a fanfiction author gets.


	13. A New Chance

**CHAPTER 13: A New Chance**

**Beta:** Neon-Panda

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**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I am so sorry for not updating for so long ... but I had things to do (work, two exams, one presentation and an essay), people to meet (family reunion), places to go (2-week-holiday on another continent, for the family reunion) ...  
And then I needed a little bit of time to sort out my thoughts on this story.

I'd like to devote this chapter to R (did you know that there is a programming language that is called R?) who asked me thrice for an update. You know, I would have answered you if you would just log in for reviewing… and to who wished to know what's going on in Blaise's mind. Here's one chapter just in his POV.

Anyway: thank you all so much for the wonderful, lovely reviews!

Oh, and just one thing more before I forget: if you will, I'd like you to support LittleMissOverProtective2013 in getting the word FANTABULOUS into a dictionary. So please use it! It is probably a result of sleep deprivation, but we all know that feeling, right?

* * *

Blaise was angry and annoyed and oddly disappointed; maybe it had been a mistake to bring the two submissives together. Did Ives really have to drag Draco's family into the dirt in front of someone Draco had always tried to impress, always tried to live up to? What had the damn submissive been thinking?  
Draco knew that his family had committed many shameful crimes and it had taken him so long to be able to reconcile that fact with the view that had been hammered into his young mind from a very tender age on. How much time and effort had it taken for Draco to step out of his family's overpowering shadow, start to think by himself and become his own person? The person that Blaise loved.

Yet Draco was very loyal to his family still, not least because he was realistic enough to know that every stain on their reputation would mar his also. Privately, Blaise knew that his lover dreamed of following in Adler Malfoy's footsteps and recreate the meaning of _Malfoy_, restore the so recently tarnished family honour. He wanted his enemies to fear _and_ respect him and he wanted his name to be recognized not only by their pureblood circles but by those of mixed blood also who were now starting to gain the upper hand after the war. Draco wanted his family not only to survive those changes but thrive in them.  
Blaise knew that, because he wanted it also for the Zabinis who had been watching from the sidelines for far too long. Such was the price of neutrality: one ceased to matter after a while.

And for Draco to get his nose rubbed into the flaws of his oh so noble family like this by Adler's husband in front of Harry of all people. Adler who Draco had always tried to impress the most of his family and Harry who had always been the more famous, the more prestigious one of the two, and the magically stronger as well; who had been the object of Draco's obsession for years, the incarnation of all the failures in his youth, of everything he couldn't have, everything he wasn't allowed to be. It had taken a war for Draco to notice that the image he had of the Saviour was nothing more than a projection of his doubts and jealousies and yet that realisation had still not smothered his guilty fascination with the other boy.

Draco had always ever wanted recognition for being who he was and what he wanted to accomplish and not for being Lucius Malfoy's son. In Adler's and his parent's eyes, in the eyes of their circles and peers and strangely enough: in Harry's. But with his family ordering his every move, guiding his every thought, how could he have done it?

And now Draco walked so tense next to him, hiding his hurt pride behind haughty aloofness and silent frostiness, feeling humiliated in front of the Chosen One and probably wishing for nothing more than to not be a Malfoy; Worse, there was nothing Blaise could do to make him feel better, because everything he could have said had been said before and Blaise could not change Draco's family history, however much he wanted to.

What was maybe even worse was that Harry was taking notice of the fallen Slytherin prince's frosty mood and started to become fidgety next to them while they led him towards the roof garden. He kept biting his lips to a swollen cherry red and massaged the knuckles of his right hand, rubbing over them firmly, absentmindedly. Blaise would have found it adorable, had it not been the proof of the Gryffindor's unrest. Another thing he had no idea how to alleviate.

Though evidently, Harry's discomfort didn't keep him from speaking out in the end, in a hesitant, awkward mumble.  
"Umm, you know, I wasn't … I really didn't intend to …" Harry shrugged and let go of his abused hand to rub over his brow with his reddened knuckles instead as he searched for words. Discreetly Blaise glanced over to his fiancé but Draco seemed unwilling to come to the stuttering Gryffindor's aide even though it should have been his task being the one their guest was speaking to. He sighed, realising that it was up to him once again to comfort the younger submissive – not that he really minded; he had no desire to see either of them like this…

"Don't worry, Harry," Blaise started in a tone of voice that he hoped would calm the brunet's conscience. After all, it was probably Ives' fault and not Harry's. "It's…"

"No, really! I didn't intend to insult you. And Ives certainly didn't."

Draco snorted softly, bitterly disbelieving, but said nothing and even if he or Blaise had known what to say, it was to be doubted that they would have gotten the chance, seeing as Harry grasped both of their sleeves and forced them to a sudden halt in the long stretched corridor.

"I'm not lying or making this up!" He exclaimed, his intense green eyes flitting from one to the other. Then he flushed lightly as he noticed that his hands were still entangled in the soft fabrics of their shirts. Immediately he snatched them back, letting them awkwardly fall to his sides.

"Let's be honest, Draco, I will probably never like your father…"

Blaise almost sighed, only barely withstanding the urge to try and rub his impending headache away; that was really not the way to comfort a hurting dragon…  
Next to him Draco huffed and encountered the Gryffindor's stubborn stare coolly, his chin raised in his hurt pride. "Let's not go there right now, okay?"

"No, just listen for a moment!" The brunet exclaimed exasperatedly. "Lucius is a right bastard and I'm pretty sure I won't like many of your ancestors either…"

Merlin, Blaise thought with a critical glance towards his fiancé, that wasn't going to end well. Draco's jaw was clenched tightly and he just knew if he got a chance to speak, the infamous Malfoy temperament would make him say something unfortunate.

"Harry, it would be better if we dropped the subject…" Blaise tried again with as much diplomacy as he was able to, praying the other would listen to the tightness in his voice, but the brunet was having none of it.

"_But_… Ives said that you were the first in many generations of Malfoy's with the potential to be someone …" for a moment he hesitated, biting his lips as he looked uncomfortably into the narrowed, piercing grey eyes. Blaise dearly hoped he wouldn't say something unfortunate now; he was aware that Draco had frozen, awaiting the judgement of his ancestor with apprehension bubbling under the surface of his steely eyes, even if the flicker in his grey orbs was the only thing betraying his feelings. It was not often that a Malfoy directly imparted their opinion openly, they were all cold, chastising glances and proud, praising silence. Except maybe Ives, but he was usually a very private person.

"Someone he could be proud of." Harry finally said, his voice soft but unwavering and honest, just like the Gryffindor he was, maybe even a little bit Hufflepuff and suddenly, Blaise found himself blessing the boy for those traits that might make him vulnerable in a pureblood society, but not any less precious.

Draco blinked several times and then looked towards his Italian lover, obviously startled. "He did?"

Okay, maybe not Hufflepuff; for that Harry seemed too uncomfortable all of a sudden with giving compliments. "Yeah, well, you know, he said how Adler had been so relieved when you… you know, during the end of the war and all? And I mean I was, too. If I hadn't thought you to be better than your father I wouldn't have stood witness for you…"

"Better than my father." Draco deadpanned, but his eyes held a soft glimmer now, and one corner of his mouth twitched traitorously as he wavered on the brink to the tender amusement blossoming below his earlier bitter frustration.

Something Harry didn't seem to notice. "Well, you are! I mean you saved my life by keeping silent that day in your manor when we were captured even though - even though it would have been better for you and your family if you had just handed me over to Volde… uh, sorry, to _him_."

Blaise smiled and shook his head to keep himself from jumping the black haired youth and kissing him right then and there until he fainted from lack of air. Just to shut him up, of course, before he managed to destroy with a careless remark what he had accomplished: in his awkward way, Harry had managed to say exactly what Draco had needed to hear, and it was quite endearing, really… Still, it was about time to deliver the poor jewel from his stuttering.

"Harry." He said, a smile tingeing his voice.

Draco's hand landed on his forearm to stop him from reaching out and his fiancé threw him a quick glance full of sparkling amusement. Blaise rolled his eyes. Draco enjoyed the fumbling compliments too much, really.

All the while, Harry went on ignoring his interjection, too busy evading their gazes. "And you couldn't kill Dumbledore; you _do_ have a conscience and I know it couldn't have been easy, you never had a real chance to choose sides…"

"Harry!"

"Don't interrupt me now! I will so regret this…" He said, shifting on his feet. Somehow the Gryffindor looked as if he really couldn't believe the words tumbling out of his mouth as he stared into space, wide-eyed and staggered by his own speech, one of his hands raking through his already tousled hair, leaving it as upset as he seemed himself.

"I still hate that you kidnapped me and how disrespectful you treated me at the beginning; you have. No. Idea. How much I hated that…"

"Harry…" Draco sighed, all the giddiness of a moment earlier all but vanished. He hadn't thought much during that moment after Harry's escape attempt, not past the single-minded exhilaration that only contesting with the Saviour of the Wizarding World was able to instil in him. And though apologies did not easily pass his lips, he knew that in this case a silent acknowledgement in the form of a missing contradiction was just not enough. "I am sorry."

"_We_ are." Blaise corrected, feeling much the same, except that it had been his anger clouding his judgement and if he thought closely now about how carelessly Harry was always risking his life … he simply couldn't be allowed to keep going like that. Even though Blaise knew that he had approached the subject positively maladroitly, it certainly would need further attention. The thought that Harry might end up dead or hurt because of his own thoughtlessness had his stomach in knots. It was unacceptable.

"Yeah?" Harry said a little bit warily, shifting his chin to the side and once again starting to torture the knuckles of his right hand as he considered them carefully. One of them gave a dull clunk, making Blaise's fingers itch in sympathy and with the want to keep the other young man from fidgeting, but he controlled himself under the Gryffindor's assessing gaze. Slowly Harry nodded. "Well, don't do it again and I'll try to forget about it for now."

Not giving the two Slytherins the chance to reply, Harry continued right away, speaking fast so as if he wanted to finish before he could back down.

"Anyway: I still want to speak with Hermione and have her confirm what you said would await me outside of this manor as a … a _non-dominant_ Vykélari. But I know that you … well, as Ives said: you have the _potential_ to be a good person, both of you, or you would have tried to blackmail me already into mating. Or at least Ives said that."

Taking a deep breath, Harry looked up at them with a self-deprecating half-smile. "So, I promised Ives I'd give you a fair chance."

For a moment, Blaise wondered if he had heard correctly, feeling quite dumbfounded and he couldn't help but be a little bit wary in the face of this latest development. Had Ives really managed to do what they had tried to achieve during the last one and a half day in one and a half _hours_?

But why, then, had the red-haired submissive run Draco's family down like that? And what exactly had he managed to persuaded Harry with?

Next to him he heard Draco swallow before he asked. "A fair … and what exactly does that entail?"

Curious himself, Blaise trained his eyes on the brunet, observing with interest how his golden skin flushed appealingly. What, by Mordred, had Ives told the Gryffindor to embarrass him so?

"Well…" Harry drawled, blushing even more as he ducked his head. "Ives said I should let you court me, but honestly I'm not sure if I'm at all ready for that…"

Draco laughed, a merry, light sound that resounded through the otherwise empty hallway and made Harry look up, his expression an undecided mixture of annoyance and confusion. "What…"

"God, Harry," the blonde smiled, tilting his head a little bit as he reached forward to take Harry's chin between two fingers, a touch that the Gryffindor allowed wondrously. "Had I known you would look so strikingly beautiful when you're embarrassed, I'd have teased you mercilessly instead of insanely trying to duel the Saviour of the Wizarding World and losing to you all the time."

Harry narrowed his eyes a little bit and raised his chin, effectively breaking off eye contact with Draco. But a small smile played around the corner of his lips like sunlight falling through green-leaved, swaying branches, a proof that he hadn't seriously taken offence. "I'm not beautiful, especially not when I'm red as a radish but it might have made for a much more pleasant time in Hogwarts if I wouldn't have had to watch out for you and your cronies hexing me in the corridors."

"Harry, sweet, you are so painfully ignorant of how you affect others in every regard, always have been … but don't worry, in time we'll show you. And though our time might have been more pleasant, it would also have been less interesting. And I like to think that it was my teaching that kept you alive in later years."

"Maybe. You certainly kept me alert." Harry smiled wryly for a moment.

It was dangerous ground the two of them were moving on, and maybe it was too early to touch upon that part of their shared history, but now it had happened and someday the subject would have to be broached anyway.

And so, Blaise watched the two of them carefully, wondering if Draco and Harry grasped the significance of the situation. This was the first of possibly many tests the three of them had to pass together; and if they didn't, then … well then maybe they were not meant to be and he and Draco would have to find a safe way for Harry to get to know a suitable mate. Oh, how the very idea infuriated him!

Would it be better, though, to trick the young submissive into staying with them nonetheless? Blaise didn't know. He only knew that somewhat forced or at least arranged marriages had occurred in the history of both his and Draco's family and that, more often than not, they had worked out in the end. Ives was only one example. But then again, Blaise's own mother had killed her first husband, a husband she had only unwillingly married at the behest of her parents; which then had become quite the habit or even addiction for her - the killing of her husbands, not the arranged marriages - and the reason why Blaise had been allowed to propose to the man he had fallen in love with even though no child, no heir, could come from this union.

And his mother had been a pureblood, one who had been raised with the prospect of an arranged marriage, who understood the traditions. Harry wasn't, Harry didn't. He might end up hurt and bitter and trapped in a world he didn't even _want_ to understand, didn't want to know and the precious fire in his eyes that had always burned so brightly and made people follow him might be extinguished.

He would learn to live with them, because that is what he always did, because he was a survivor, but the fiery passion that made him special would be no more. Harry would be miserable and in the end, Draco would be, too, and Blaise.  
Yet, if they let him go, then Harry might face that very fate with another dominant and not only was there no way of foreseeing for which purposes that dominant would deploy the newfound power, also Blaise and Draco would always live with the knowledge that Harry was once again miserable and that nothing had been won by sacrificing the gift of his powers, of his company.

There was only one way to ensure that this wouldn't happen: they had to make Harry fall in love with them and now, thanks to Ives, they had the opportunity to woo him and show him that for all three of them to be happy and safe, they had to be together.  
And in Blaise's opinion, that was a fact. Seeing the newly awakened glinting in his lover's eyes, he was almost sure that Harry could make Draco happy, maybe even happier than Blaise alone could have managed. That he himself felt rather at ease with the Gryffindor even though he was normally much more reserved and generally needed far longer to warm up to someone (in the rare cases he did it at all) rather lead him to believe that he, too, could find pleasure in the company of the young submissive. He certainly was refreshing.  
That only left to prove that it was mutual, Blaise thought as he considered Harry, who was growing serious again in front of his eyes as he locked his intense green eyes on Draco.

"Draco, I've no problem with … well, with what happened in Hogwarts. God knows I've had more important things to do than keeping fixated on past grudges and I know that people can change. And Ives vouched for you, but … well, up to now you didn't give me much cause to think that you have. I will give you that chance now. Just this once, you won't get a second."

Blaise felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips, completely approving of the cautious answer. Now he was convinced that Harry would be good for Draco, able and willing to give him the opportunity that Blaise couldn't: the fair opportunity to honestly prove himself to someone who was neither prepossessed for him nor would pass judgement on him based on actions he had done while he was little more than a child or teenager under the thumbs of its parents. One person more who might come to honestly appreciate the Slytherin Prince for something else than his reputation.

"Thank you." Draco said quietly with a curt inclination of his head, Blaise agreeing silently.

"Yeah," Harry started somewhat gruffly, harrumphing slightly, obviously uncomfortable again, "just don't screw it up."

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I'm sorry that it is so short. But the next chapter is almost finished, so you won't have to wait too long.  
I hope you liked it nonetheless.


	14. Touch of Magic

**CHAPTER 14: Touch of Magic **

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Again I'm sorry for the long wait. But Night Flight has now about 900 readers and seriously, that makes me so nervous that I had to get myself a beta, and **Neon-Panda** offered, so I gratefully accepted. She is great and helps me a lot and she is going to be some kind of co-author in this story and will be adding some scenes of her own here and there.  
Unfortunately, she currently has some problems with her laptop and internet connection, but since it's already been two weeks, I'm adding this chapter unbeta'd.

Anyway. Neon-Panda is also currently working on some fanart for Night Flight; she is a wonderful artist (yes, you are!) and if you want to see other pictures she drew in the past, have a look at her galleries. You can find the links on her profile. And while you're there, leave a comment, she'll be positively delighted.

On that note I wanted to thank you all sincerely for reading and especially for reviewing. In particular I'd like to thank my most loyal reviewers:  
**Obsessed362**, for 9 wonderful reviews!  
**TearfullPixie**, for reviewing 8 times in total (you are catching up to Obsessed362, my dear).  
**R**, for reviewing and nagging 7 times. And you all should thank R also, because he/she/it is the reason I'm updating today ;-) Love you! But you know, sweetheart, if you just made an account and added this story to your story alerts, you wouldn't have to check every day for updates and I could answer your comments…  
**Your Huckleberry**, **blackroses77** and **Ms. Chibi**, who commented 6 times on my insanity with elaborate and awesome reviews.  
And last but not least **Zale potter** and **Thornesedge**for 5 very nice reviews.

Now enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Harry found himself faintly reminded of the day he had first held his arm out above a broom on the grounds of Hogwarts, preparing to will it into his hand. Now though, he stood there on the roof garden of Lanai Manor, nothing aside from a shallow stone fence separating him from the edge as he once again faced the prospect of flying for the first time. The first time with feathery wings instead of a wooden broom.

As a first year in Hogwarts he had started with empty hands, just like now, and a heart beating quickly in excitement, before the broom had flown into his fingers upon a single-worded command. How he wished it could be that easy right then and there as he stood with the two Slytherins behind him and the salty sea wind in his face, because there was no trace of the joyful anticipation he had experienced right before his first time on a broom: the feeling he had now was darker, more queasy.

His wings were still retracted, waiting under a layer of tanned skin and Harry couldn't bring himself to let them burst from his back as he still remembered how much that had hurt him in the hospital, for only some moments, that much was true, but still it was enough to keep him imprisoned in apprehensive indecision.  
If he now thought about it, Harry couldn't really remember what had been so painful because at that moment he simply hadn't known what was happening to him, the pain had simply been there, refusing to be located or fought down, spreading down his back, along every muscle, every nerve. He never would have guessed that he had been growing bloody wings: only now Harry understood why the pain had appeared to originate from somewhere beyond his back but radiated into his torso in streams of liquid fire.

_'What is wrong with flying on a broom?'_ Harry thought, really not wanting to extract them ever again; it was a choice he could have been content with, if there hadn't been the promise to Ives to accept his being a Vykélari to gain his freedom.  
Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true: he couldn't rid himself of the image of Blaise that had burned itself into his mid. Blaise with his copper and bronze wings, looking so … indescribably in tune with every slight movement of the wind, so free, so agile, so beautiful in those few seconds that Harry had seen him fly… it had been more natural than flying on a broom could ever be.

Harry wanted that, too. If only he didn't have to transform again.

A shadow fell down onto the grass next to his feet and a moment later, Draco stood at his side and gave him an oddly serene smile that had Harry raise one eyebrow in questioning. The only answer he got, though, was a widening of that odd smile, then the blond turned away from him without further ado and let his wand fall into the open palm of his slender hand with a graceful twirl - that Harry might have been envious of had he found pleasure in such pretentiousness - and his wand arm moved in a complicated pattern, fast and sure as if he had done that specific spell million times before, an unintelligible murmur falling from his lips. Once Draco's smooth voice lapsed into silence, a small mirror appeared in front of Harry, gleaming in the light of the sun that still stood low behind them.  
With another spell the mirror was enlarged until it measured several metres in length and was at least two metres tall, hanging in the air before them. A mirror. Well, Harry pondered with a half-smirk, that might explain why the vain Slytherin seemed so familiar with that particular charm.

It reflected the sunlight, throwing it back and illuminating Harry and Draco and Blaise, who stood quietly behind them; but the reflection was not blinding them, as if the brightest light was somehow filtered out. While Draco turned towards him, Harry wondered if that had been part of the complicated magic that the blond had performed; it hadn't been a normal spell for conjuring a mirror, that was all Harry could tell.  
And so he nodded once in acknowledgement and respect. It was a nice bit of magic and a very neat effect even if he couldn't imagine having much use for it, especially during a flying lesson _'Why a mirror?'_Harry questioned with his eyes as he looked at the pale, seemingly emotionless face.

"When you transform, Harry, I want you to look into the mirror. I want you to see your markings, your wings. I know you never did."

Harry rolled his eyes. Somehow he wished Draco and Blaise would stop acting as if he should be happy and eager about it all - like they were. He was trying, re really was: he would transform and do his best to adapt and learn. But after all that had happened during the last few days, with all that life altering changes forced upon him, could they really expect him to be exhilarated? Besides, transforming back into that bird-like creature just felt as if he was about to stick a toothbrush under the nail of his big toe and then kick against a solid stone wall with all his might: it was something all his instincts screamed at him not to do; he wasn't in any way masochistically inclined after all, even though with the way he kept antagonizing powerful wizards, that might have been a valid assumption. Now if he could fly without having to transform first…

Regardless of his conflicted feelings, his teachers went on with their instructions.  
"Okay, since your magic is probably still a little bit wonky, we'll do it without evitable magic and teach you the necessary spells tomorrow or the day after."Draco said.  
"Now take off your shirt."

Harry blinked, confused and a tiny little bit affronted. "excuse me?"

"Harry," Draco impatiently raised an eye-brow, "you really don't want to transform like that, do you? You would tear the shirt and the pressure on the growing wings is rather painful, or so I'm told. We'll show you tomorrow how to cut two slits into the fabric word- and wandlessly and close them afterwards but I think we should use less … expensive clothing for that."

"Oh. Yeah, of course." Harry muttered bitterly, thinking back to the hardwearing cotton T-shirt and the sweater he had worn that full-moon night, then quietly pulled off the light blue shirt, which Harry thought, was a lot thinner than what he had been wearing then and might have ripped more easily, not bruising his growing wings. It explained much and not for the first time, Harry found himself envious of the two Slytherins for having known, for having been prepared. He could have been spared so much pain and confusion, not to say panic.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Draco turn his head to share a quick glance with his fiancé. "I realise you were most likely completely dressed that night but it really does not hurt in any way if done correctly."

"What were you wearing?" Blaise asked softly from behind him.

Harry shrugged, scrunching the garment in his hand to a ball. "Sweater, T-shirt. I was cold that evening, it had pelted in the afternoon."

"Merlin."

"Yeah." Harry said dryly, a bitter smile on his lips. "Well, it's over. But it certainly doesn't make this any easier."

"It's a wonder your wings didn't break! The bones are hollow."

Harry shrugged. "I think someone cut the fabrics." He couldn't be sure though, at that point he had not been able to see or hear anymore.

"We don't have to do this, Harry." Draco said, stepping closer to him. "It's up to you. But knowing how much you love flying - this takes the experience to a whole new level. I'm certain you would enjoy it very much. But we don't have to do this," he repeated "not now while the memory is still so fresh."

Harry blinked as he watched the Slytherin, searching the grey eyes, wondering since when the teen who had always tried his best to cause him pain - physical and emotional - in the past, who had in his attempt to murder Dumbledore cursed Katie Bell and poisoned Ron, who had helped Death Eaters enter a school full of his own peers and friends and so many innocent children… since when did that teen care for the pain of others?  
A moment later Harry looked away, feeling cheap. He had promised himself to bury all those things with those that had died. People did horrible things during war, and even the most peaceable persons could transform to monsters if left in the wrong peer group. Hermione had said that a group of seven intelligent people could have the group-IQ of a mentally disabled person and could act like a violent, uncontrollable mob. Like a pack of wild dogs riling each other more and more up in a hunt. No one could say truthfully what they would do in such a position if it hadn't happened to them yet. Muggles had even done experiments in that direction. Alarming and horrific, Hermione had called them. Even highly esteemed persons of good standing that usually commanded respect could be persuaded to the most cruel and vile deeds so easily it was disturbing.

And Harry believed that the blond had broken free of that at last, had found his conscience during the war or he wouldn't have stood witness for him.

Still, it was a little bit surreal, seeing him act so considerately.

"Why don't we just take another day off and tomorrow we will start working on your magic." Blaise asked then and harry looked at him sharply. It was just what he had wanted to do in the beginning, Harry thought. He could back down now, could turn away and never transform again by postponing it from one day to the other until the 51 days were over.

But the image of Blaise soaring above the water flashed in front of his inner eye again and Harry shook his head. No, he would fly, he decided, not only because he had promised he would.  
In a certain light even, flying now was the most logical decision: Harry was already feeling apprehensive and it most likely wouldn't get better with time, his fears would set and become illogical and deep rooted, such is the nature of all fears. He should break through them now, while he still could. And then there was the promise to Ives that he would allow Draco and Blaise to teach him, and as a Gryffindor he wouldn't go back on his word. Also, being one of Hogwarts' lions, he just couldn't allow himself to chicken out of a simple task like flying. Damn it, he had been the youngest seeker in one century! And lastly, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do right now, anyway, was it?

Therefore, taking a deep breath, Harry shook his head and threw the balled up shirt behind him onto the ground - much to the raised eyebrows of his hosts. "Nah. We should do it now. I don't want you Slytherins to go and tell everyone that a Gryffindor dodged something you already succeeded in doing."

"Perish the thought!" Blaise smirked while Draco rolled his eyes.

"Besides," Harry added nonchalantly, noticing that both Slytherins seemed relieved by his yielding, "I want to know if I can beat Draco without a broom."

"Ha! You wish!" Draco sniffed in his haughtiest Malfoy-drawl, cocking his head.

"Well, we won't find out unless we try…" Harry countered before stepping towards the edge of the roof garden again, his heart beating way too fast despite his brave words as his green eyes fastened on his reflection in the oversized mirror. Even after two days (it was after all only his third day in Lanai Manor, the first of which had been very short because of his little outburst that had landed him in bed again due to magical exhaustion after not more than four hours) he found himself actually surprised that his body in human form hadn't changed at all after coming into his inheritance. Sure, the day before they had spent mainly down by the sea in the sun, which had lend his skin a nice, golden tan but aside from that, he was looking the same as before.

_'I really could ignore all this for the rest of my life. No one would notice.'_

Forcing himself to drop that line of thinking, Harry straightened out. It was already too late for that. People had noticed and though it might have been possible to cover his inheritance up, the Malfoys and Zabinis had made that impossible by making him disappear so suddenly from the public eye. There was no point in mourning squandered chances.

Taking a deep breath, Harry willed his wings into existence.  
He anticipated pain, the searing pressure on his skin that he now knew would have been the fabric of his clothing that had cramped his wings together. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

But the half-expected agony didn't come. Neither did the weight that his wings should have made his back bear and the mirror showed no change when, after some moments, he finally blinked one eye open.

"Harry?" A hand landed on his shoulder, warm and soothing, and Harry looked into the mirror again to see Blaise's dark eyes considering him. "You don't have to do this"

Frowning stubbornly, wondering why it hadn't worked, Harry once again imagined the enormous, emerald and bottle-green and spring-green appendages that would erupt from his body, tearing his skin. His shoulders tensed.

Nothing happened.

"Harry?" Blaise inquired again.

"It's not working." Harry said, bewildered, absentmindedly wiping one of his sweat-slick hands on his pants. "My wings won't come out…"  
Frowning, he turned. "Am I doing it wrong?"

* * *

Blaise stared at the young submissive, his brows drawn together as he took in the other teen's posture that screamed of intense discomfort; the shoulders were hunched, every muscle tensed tightly as if he was already in pain.  
He sighed then. There was no way that Harry would be able to bring forth his wings in the emotional state he was currently in. His magic would never do something that he clearly did not want, that might hurt him. And since Harry feared the transformation of his wings and maybe even disliked the new appendages as the most obvious change that had come with his inheritance, the very epitome of his unwanted legacy, it wouldn't allow the brunet to do more emotional damage by letting the emerald wings appear.

A Vykélari's magic was almost sentient in and on itself. It could act on its own to benefit its owner and it could refuse its service when it perceived a certain action as a danger. Obviously, the latter was the case now.  
And yet, Harry had been able to change his eyes back and gain the Vykélari sight again, reluctantly but without any problems that Blaise knew of. It really seemed as if the young submissive majorly had a problem with his wings and not with the rest of his Vykélari attributes. From that fact sprouted the amorphous hope that maybe, maybe Harry's unwillingness to transform didn't stem from him rejecting his inheritance but from the fear of being hurt again, and therefore not from Draco's and Blaise's mistakes.

And fear, Blaise and Draco could work on with the young man, after all wasn't he a Gryffindor?  
In fact it just so happened that Blaise had the perfect, quick solution for Harry's fear that would literally kill two birds with one stone. Blaise halted internally for a moment at that: what an unfortunate wording for a saying when applied to Vykélari - bird-like beings. But well, what he planned would be a valuable lesson for Draco and Harry and enjoyable for himself at the same time, if they'd let him do it that is.

So, encountering the still questioning green eyes, Blaise took a step forward, to answer Harry's inquiry. "I do have a guess on why you feel unable to summon your wings. Would you let me try something?"

Warily, Harry tilted his head, his eyes narrowed against the sun. "What?"

"Just trust me for a moment. Please." Blaise said, keeping his face as neutral as any Slytherin during a negotiation, though internally his stomach clenched in anticipation, waiting while Harry regarded him thoughtfully for some moments. "No spells?"

Blaise heard his lover sigh at the obvious mistrust that they still encountered and he could only agree: he had hoped for more after their last conversation.

"You promised to give us an honest chance." Draco said, lowly, careful that no hint of an accusation tinted his voice; which almost drew a smirk on Blaise's face: sometimes Draco seemed to confuse the Gryffindor with a full-grown Hippogryph that he needed to placate lest he be trampled and hacked to death.

"And I am" Harry answered, biting his lips. "Doesn't mean that I'll be trusting you blindly. Just that I won't outright refuse your proposals and … and advances." He said, his cheeks flushing faintly while he stubbornly encountered their assessing gazes.  
"I …" he shrugged "I'll give you the chance to explain."

Blaise knew what those deep eyes were asking them for, those hauntingly beautiful wells of leaf green that he felt like falling into. And that almost had the tanned Italian lose his train of thoughts again: even if he might never love the brunet - though in time he believed that he could - he already was in love with his eyes. Just like Draco's silvery, white blazing gaze had been what had attracted him first and foremost to the Ice Prince. They spoke of a kind of intelligence that couldn't be achieved with books.

Blinking once, twice to recollect himself, Blaise focused on Harry's almost pleading expression again that told him - them - in no unclear terms that they would be wise to not ask for more, to not ask for the submissive's trust and unconditional cooperation while they hadn't yet proven themselves to him, because Harry couldn't give it.

And that, Blaise felt, was acceptable, even desirable, because while he wished for the submissive to yield to them, he could understand that this would, right now, be the sign of a level of naivety and stupidity that no mate of his should or could possess.

Therefore he answered the unspoken challenge with a lazy smile and a smooth "That is quite alright, Harry."  
Then he let himself become serious once more, businesslike, just like he thought Harry might appreciate right now. "I think you are very apprehensive of your wings and that because of this, your magic won't allow the transformation. So I thought it might help if we tried to just show you. No spells." He added from under lowered lashes, wondering how Harry would react to his proposal once he understood its nature. As it was, right then he just frowned in confusion. "Why would my magic keep me from summoning my wings? I've had it under control for years."

"Your magic can't be controlled like that anymore, Harry." Draco shook his head. "If you just tap it a little bit, you can still direct it with a wand just like you used to." Draco proceeded, his voice losing a little bit of the tightness while the blond lost himself in the explanation. "Most Vykélari choose to do that because focusing your magic otherwise into very specific effects outside of certain … let's say spatial boundaries is neigh to impossible for most, and even for those who are able to do it, it is very difficult and demanding. But the whole of your magic will protect you, even from yourself." He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. "Imagine it like the accidental magic of children, just more self-decided and sentient."

Harry frowned and nodded like someone who was in the process of accepting facts while discovering inconsistencies in every nook and corner. Had he always been like that, Blaise wondered, stumbling over concealed truths and lies quite accidentally while others like Draco kept over-analyzing and scrutinising some matters and accept others if only they came from the right lips. Like following a sadistic, bloodthirsty and power-hungry madman would be a good idea.

"But … I mean: when none of us can really use all this power that we have, why then can't …"

"Why can't we leave you alone?" Draco finished in a soft murmur when Harry had fallen silent, his eyes resting on his former nemesis with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah."

"Well, to be truthful it is because the mating bond stabilizes the magic of those involved, making it accessible." Blaise answered, keeping his voice neutral and clinical; it would be inappropriate to show compassion when he was one of those seeking the benefits of such a mating.  
Still he refrained from voicing the obvious consequences of the effects of a bonding. There was after all something like too much and too blunt honesty and right now it would do none of them much good if they kept dwelling on concerns that might never come true the way they now thought they would.

So to stop the younger teen's mind from wandering further along those nebulous paths of ifs and buts, Blaise stepped closer to tenderly brush a thick, velvety black strand of hair away from Harry's brow. "Don't worry about it now. Remember that you are safe here, from us and from every other dominant. Now, Harry, on to more pleasant matters: do you still want to fly?"

Upon the guarded nod and a hesitantly murmured "Yes", Blaise smiled, hiding most of his excitement, before he turned to his fair skinned lover with an air of mischief surrounding him. "Your turn."  
Immediately Draco froze and his cold grey eyes narrowed at him dangerously, telling him that his beloved fiancé was aware of what exactly he wished to do; which was not surprising, they had after all spoken about it not even an hour ago with Adler when they had recounted to him all that had happened between them and the delicious submissive from the moment they had entered that hospital room. Blaise had, with the smile and the quiet thrill of a hunting panther, mentioned how intimate an experience it had been to have Harry's magic rush through his body, how unsettling and in hindsight utterly _addicting_.

Adler had smiled at him understandingly and said that this was somewhat of a foretaste of the establishing process of a mating bond that would allow them to permanently share their magic and, if they so wished, their thoughts and feelings. And he had also explained how to deliberately install a temporary bond like that while keeping control of one's magic.  
Of course Blaise had openly admitted how much he wanted to repeat the experience, even though he knew that Draco had found it more than a little bit disconcerting; which was understandable, too, since Harry and he had been enemies for far longer than the duration of their relational limbo after the war; or the few days as kidnapper/host/courter and victim/guest/courted. Unsurprisingly, Draco had refused, saying also that Harry would never want to do it at this time.  
But Blaise wanted Draco to experience what he himself had during Harry's transformation. That uncomfortable feeling of nakedness in the face of pure power, almost like a violation of your magical core, so intimate. But heady and intoxicating in the sense of closeness to someone who was just as helpless to defy that connection; the knowledge that it could also go both ways. For the first time in his life there had neither been a need nor a possibility of hiding.  
A truly dangerously thrilling experience. And intoxicating.

Yet more than this, Blaise believed that it was an experience that they needed to go through rather sooner than later because it was equally as important for Harry as it was for Draco: their sweet Gryffindor needed to accept and embrace his legacy to move on with his life and he needed to know what the future held for him, what they could give him. He wanted to show Harry together with Draco not only how to live with being a Vykélari, but also how to thrive on those changes. After that childhood, that war … with such a past, Harry deserved to live again, and not have his magical and personal strength go to waste. That was something they could do for him.  
And Draco needed to understand not only what a bond between them would gain them, but also what it would _cost_them: privacy, appearances, masks; all of those were after all very important for the Ice Prince of Slytherin and Draco needed to be certain that he could lose those in front of Blaise and Harry.

It was a necessary lesson for all of them, another challenge that Blaise was now confident they could live up to; they could do it now, they _should_do it now: who knew how long Harry's cooperation would last, who knew if he would give them the chance for a taste of this bond ever again?

And yet as he stood there with his fiancé's angry eyes and Harry's confused ones firmly resting on him, Blaise couldn't help but think that maybe all of this was too early, that maybe he should have given Harry more time to become comfortable around them, and Draco to become used to the idea of sharing himself.  
Mordred, it was not like him to rush a decision or to unthinkingly voice his thoughts like this, but he couldn't take it back now without losing face, or worse: without giving the appearance of trying to get a fearful lover an avenue of escape. Draco wouldn't appreciate it, not in front of Harry. And so, he waited.

* * *

Draco graced the Italian with a cold, ill-humoured glare for long, unending moments. He hated being pressed into a corner, having his choices taken away from him. Something inside of him snarled and raged against the very idea.

Showing Harry the transformation! What was he thinking? He knew that Blaise had wanted the relive the magical connection, and in a way he could understand that it was the most efficient, innocuous way of ridding the Gryffindor of his apprehension of his wings, but still…

Draco would have sighed or frowned or snapped at Blaise, if Harry hadn't stood there watching the two of them with that curious expression; how could Draco, when it was not him who had a valid reason to be anxious but the younger submissive who had lived through a hell of a traumatic transformation and had to face it yet again.  
And how could he, if it was such a simple request from someone he loved so dearly and who had always stood at his side. Through everything and against everyone? If it was that important to his fiancé, important enough for him to voice it in this unsubtle way without giving him the possibility of a graceful refusal, he would indulge him of course, but well … he just hoped he would be able to not bare himself.

This had never been his intention when agreeing with Blaise on wooing the Gryffindor; he had thought that for once he was in a superior position in regard to his former enemy, for once the teacher, leading by example, for once the winner of their meaningless and yet so _essential_ competitions. And why not? He was, after all, to be the dominant in their relationship. Or one of them in any case.  
But Harry was magically stronger and he would never just submit _and_he would install a bond between the three of them that would leave them stripped bare in front of each other, in a way that Draco didn't know if he could learn to be comfortable with. He had not thought much about that little trivia before.

It was not a question of trust: He trusted Blaise, gods, he trusted him with his life, with the secrets of his family and himself, and deep down he knew that he could trust Harry. Even through all their hate and rivalry during Hogwarts, he knew he would be able to trust that teenager who simply was too noble, too principled and fair-minded for his own good. He just hadn't wanted to see it at that time.

Exposing his physical and emotional feelings and thoughts though, was quite another matter and it just went against every Slytherin instinct ingrained into his mind, and yet, it also aroused the morbid curiosity of a small, half-hidden part of him. A part that he usually labelled as insane and downright self-destructive and dangerous and tried to ignore to the best of his ability. Not always successfully, but mostly.  
It was the part that had made him repeatedly challenge a young wizard he _knew_ was more powerful than him, the part that had taken guilty pleasure in the challenge of repairing those vanishing cabinets - at least while he had still been naïve enough to not be overly afraid; the part that had made him stupidly join the Battle of Hogwarts. And what a wonderful idea that had been!  
At least it had been the right side that time, the winning side. Still it had been dangerous and downright self-destructive and so not Slytherin.

Now it flared.

Jerkily, he pulled off the shirt he was wearing and held it out for Blaise to take while holding his eyes for a moment just to be sure that his fiancé knew what sacrifice exactly he demanded of him, before he turned to Harry, gentling his gaze somewhat upon encountering that apprehensive expression. At least the Saviour was not faring any better than he was, it seemed. Maybe he should just curse Blaise and be done with it, for Harry's and his peace of mind, Draco mused, throwing a quick glance at the handsome Italian, locking gazes with those dark eyes that were gleaming with a warmth and encouragement that he did not often encounter there. _'Well, then'_, he thought with a mental sigh _'maybe no cursing'_. But he couldn't help wondering what Lucius Malfoy would say, should he learn about how his role model son caved under a single look of affection and support.

"Step behind me if you will." Draco instructed Harry and stepped past him, turning towards the mirror so that the black-haired teen only needed to close the small distance between him and neither one of them would have to face the other directly while they were connected thusly.

Because somehow through the mirror, it seemed less intimate, yet even so Draco didn't look at the two young men behind him while he steeled his expression.

He didn't flinch when hesitant fingers grazed the skin of his back, most likely guided by Blaise's hands, the touch of which he could have recognized anywhere. Then a moment later it shifted, the number of fingertips lying against his skin doubling as doubtlessly, his fiancé entwined his own hand with Harry's. Still facing away, Draco indulged himself by rolling his eyes and smiling faintly, almost fondly. Blaise was so predictable sometimes. Well, at least _someone_was.

"Vykélari can feel magical streams, Harry." The Italian explained. "We can in a way manipulate the very essence of magic, but - with exception of mated Vykélari - only when directly in touch. Because concentrating magic is a very difficult feat and the very reason why wizards are using wands. Wild, pure magic is chaotic, it dissipates and randomly condenses into streams and clouds again when uncontrolled. A wizard can seize the streams in their own body and wield them in certain ways through speech and wand-movements. Without these tools, a vast amount of power and concentration is necessary to enforce a specific effect.  
Theoretically speaking, though, Vykélari can potentially direct streams that have left their body and use them as tools. So, with much practice you could for example change the effect of a hex you already casted and which has not yet hit its target - but don't do that unless inevitable: even a small mistake can have disastrous consequences! Quite similarly to the mispronunciation of spells."

Draco smiled as he remembered his father giving him that same lecture. Since then he had tried to do just that: he and Blaise had sent out stunner at everything around them in the two months since receiving their inheritance, mostly to take their minds off the upcoming trials, trying to change the spells into explosion charms; never with much success. Maybe now, together with Harry all three of them could explore and push those boundaries. Wasn't that worth the loss of security and privacy that the bond would cause? Wasn't this what dark - wild - magic was about? Accepting the dangers of the unknown just to reach for something greater? He was a Slytherin after all, he held the ambition and the intelligence to become an outstanding wizard. Blaise did so, too. And Harry? Harry. The Gryffindor role model… _'would he even want to walk that path with us?'_Draco wondered, frowning and wishing that he knew more about him, while Blaise went on with his explanation.

"Now for our purposes you could also mould the streams and use them directly as tools. But as even Vykélari cannot keep them from disintegrating again - or at least that is very exhausting and difficult - you can use such tendrils only by touching the target."

"Is this a magic or a flying lesson?" Harry demanded behind him, his voice flat, and Draco pursed his lips in amusement. Trust the Golden Boy to lighten the mood.  
"Don't be impatient, Harry. A little bit of magical theory never hurt anyone."

"Gryffindors…" Blaise sighed in fake exasperation; Harry just snorted.  
"As I was about to summarize before you so rudely interrupted me: The closer the magic is to you, to your core, the easier it is to control. By touching, you and Draco are facilitating a temporary connection to each other's magic and body."

Immediately Draco felt Harry trying to pull his hand back with a sharp intake of breath that Draco more _felt_ than heard. And within a moment he had wriggled his hand out of Blaise's loose grasp and taken a step back.  
"Whoa!" he said, holding his hands up. "A magical connection between our bodies?"

"Yes." Draco said, tilting his head as he steadily gazed at the … well, he would almost say 'skittish creature.' A sweet, skittish creature, but skittish nonetheless.

With a nervous laugh Harry shook his head. "I don't know if that is a good idea. I mean … a bond?"

"Not _such_a bond, Harry!" Draco drawled with a lewd smirk.

"Actually the two of us already had something similar in the hospital." Blaise pointed out with an amused smile, folding his arms in front of his chest. "I allowed your magic into my own body so that it could explore the structure of a Vykélari's sensory system."

"Now if you want, I will allow your magic into my body to observe my complete transformation." Draco offered, carefully watching the dumbfounded expression of a clearly out-of-his-depth Harry.. "But this time you will stay in contact with your magic and try to feel what it encounters."

"Sounds complicated."

Laughing, Draco leisurely waved the brunet closer. "It sounds worse than it is, like most magical theory. Don't worry, you have a talent with magic, I know you do." He gave him a wink, delighting in his newfound hobby of embarrassing his former enemy that proved to be such a good distraction to his own trepidation. Merlin, but he could blush so sweetly.

"Besides," Blaise murmured reassuringly with a small smile, "both Draco and I will assist you in directing your magic."

With a resigned sigh, Harry stepped closer even while Draco once again turned away from him with an elegant twirl that would have put a certain potions professor to shame.  
"Step behind me and lay your hand on my back, like before. This way you will also be able to see the transformation. If at any point you become too uncomfortable, just break the bodily contact between us and the magical connection should collapse."

Once more the trio resumed their respective positions and Draco felt himself tense a bit as the joint hands of his lover and someone who might have been a friend or more in a different reality pressed gently down on his muscles. It didn't take him long to feel out his own magic and push it outwards into the fingertips as a silent invitation.  
A ripple of excitement and apprehension went through him and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the other senses that mattered the most to him: his hearing and the ineffable intuition for magic that he usually liked to compare to a migratory bird's sense for magnetic fields. If he concentrated enough, he thought he could almost see Blaise and Harry, even though he was turned away from them, even though his eyes were closed. But they were so bright and the magic that filled every cell in their bodies made his skin tingle oh so pleasantly. It was a deep feeling of awareness, of consciousness on a level that he felt unable to explain - quite unusual for him, since words would not normally evade him. But right then and there he only knew that this effect was enabled by the three of them reaching out for each other and Harry, sweet Harry linking them, grasping their magic and forwarding it, keeping it energized and focused without changing the intent. Blaise and he could not maintain their magic like this once it was more than a few inches away from their body and even then they could not maintain the structure of a connection for longer than mere seconds.

The awareness deepened then as Draco felt a torrent of magic flood his being and a sharp spike of panic rose within him as he fought the foreign feeling of being invaded so brutally. The air that he drew in a deep gasp felt cool in his lungs. Something was there immediately, soothing him with warmth, ponderousness, sluggishness; as if he was falling into a pool of a clear, viscous, gooey substance that clouded his mind, and cradled him in weightlessness. And Draco found he didn't care anymore: he existed purely of sensation.

He thought his heartbeat was slowing … or speeding? There were too many beats in any case but he didn't think that all of them belonged to him. He might have been a birdlike creature, but this fast rate would have killed even him… and there were breaths, too many breaths of air, too irregular: in-in, out in and out and out-in again. He feared he might hyperventilate even though this was not *his* breath, he realised; though it could have been since his ribcage seemed to raise and lower with each of his own intake and the echoes of Blaise's and Harry's breaths. And it was paralyzing and intimate and chaotic, too close for his comfort and he realised that they could also feel _his_body, maybe even more so than he did theirs, since he was the one to draw in their magic.

The confusion that was his own was soon joined by wonderment and excitement and apprehension, feelings that bubbled up inside of him and were so intense that they burst from his lips in a gasp and a choked chuckle or a sob that was more a result of Harry's and Blaise's overpowering feelings than his own.

And then in the natural aspiration of sameness that animals and humans often show in their behavioural patterns, Draco felt the overwhelming shock from the differences in their breathing and heartbeat recede as Blaise and Harry and he assimilated, became one and just like that everything became easier to bear.  
It was a treacherous illusion though, because once their bodies seemed in tune, Draco became aware of all the small, unexpected trifles that in their entirety were oh so oppressive: his own fingertips were tingling from where Blaise and Harry were touching his skin, and his eyes, his closed eyes saw his own back, heaving with almost desperately drawn breaths and those intertwined fingers that were contrasting beautifully with his whitish skin. He could feel breath on his own shoulder and the echo of that sensation in his lover's and their submissive's being; not in their minds, in their very beings.

And Harry's indignation at the unintentional possessiveness he projected in his direction.

That ultimately allowed both him and Blaise to somehow draw back and reign in their emotions. It had come unexpected - all that chaos of each other's sensation - but after a few moments of being exposed to it, they were able to bethink themselves of all those lessons in concentration when performing difficult magic. First Blaise calmed, letting a deep silence permeate into the other two participants of their temporal bond, then Draco followed suit, emptying his thoughts like he had learned under Severus' tutelage in Occlumency. They still shared the awareness of their bodies, of all the strictly physical side of their selves but not their emotions.

Harry, though, seemed still too befuddled, too amazed with it all to give it up just yet. Or he was simply still crap at Occlumency. Hadn't Severus told them that the Gryffindor had never mastered the art?

Which was quite alright in Draco's books: he couldn't wait witnessing so closely how Harry would experience his first conscious transformation.

"Look!" he breathed, the heady backlash of the words, the movement of his Adam's apple as he spoke, whipping through all of them.

Very, very slowly, Draco summoned his wings, witnessing everything through Harry's wide open eyes - Blaise had followed his lead and closed his own so that the confusion between them was minimized. All three of them were looking now through those endlessly green pools.  
It was an interesting perspective that Draco had never seen himself out of and he shared in the perturbed fascination of the young submissive, as the muscles and bone structure beneath his skin shifted, creating a new joint for the powerful wings and the muscles that would carry him through the summer air.

"See? It doesn't hurt." Blaise murmured behind him, with him, in him; then the dark Italian clasped Harry's hand, shifting it to Draco's spine without losing contact and it felt good, as if his lover was holding Draco's own hand.

Almost leisurely Draco let the skeleton of his wings press against the skin of his back, denting it outwards, expanding it with the lengthening bones.  
"This is _so_gross." Harry said as slowly a featherless wing burst from Draco's back, causing the two Slytherins to laugh and their laughter to rumble through Harry's torso also, taking the edge off his disgust.

"Be careful to not transform too fast, Harry, or the growing wing bones might pierce the skin." Draco said softly, remembering the blood that had clung to those emerald wings in the hospital "Your magic will of course heal it immediately, but it smarts quite a bit. It often happens during the first transformation and whenever you are too distracted or impatient. But normally taking one or two seconds for the change will suffice to evade a rupture of the skin."  
He barely felt Harry nod, the brunet was too taken with the changes in front of him as downy, white-gold and silver and white feathers erupted from the smooth skin, lengthening and firming even while the wings themselves were growing further until finally, they spread almost over the whole length of the mirror still in front of them.

An echo of movement and a sense of nagging curiosity and then Harry touched the feathers, their softness and velvety texture tingling over sensitive fingertips of three hands, barely felt at all; a touch of nothingness. Draco smiled, felt Blaise smile with him and Harry's not really annoyed huff and at that very moment of content, delight and warmth it dawned on Draco how very comfortable he was despite or maybe because of the closeness and intimacy of the bond.

He opened his eyes, narrow and thoughtful as he sobered and awoke from the rapture of the moment and immediately he had to battle down the vertigo that his body experienced from seeing two overlying images. It only lasted some moments before he managed to block out Harry's sight but still it added to his sudden discomfort.  
Had he really allowed his guard to drop that much just from the simple relief that the connection had not proven to be unbearable and from whatever elusive dreams of security and warmth were to be had in that pretence of a bond? For it hadn't even been a real bond.

It was this sudden realization that had Draco step forward hurriedly, breaking off the bond effectively. For a moment he feared that Adler had been wrong, that they had somehow made the connection permanent but then the lingering touch of the other two young men's sensations gradually vanished as if they had left a pressure sore on his being that needed time to fade away.

Nothing was left now, Draco noted as he stared at his reflection, nothing but his too fast breathing.

"Are you alright?" Harry. Not Blaise; a Slytherin would not draw attention to the weaknesses of someone he loved - not in front of others at the very least.  
Draco didn't know what to answer. This had not been expected, not planned. He had been afraid that the intimacy would be too much to bear and that he might break the connection because of that, or that Harry would break it because he found himself unable to accept the sensations of the transformation. He had not expected to lose himself in it. And that was what had happened: they had breathed as one, their very heartbeat had synchronized. They had manipulated each other's feelings: the excitement and exhilaration that had not been his own, but Harry's! The wonder and fear. The soothing touches from both Blaise and Harry at the beginning before the Slytherins had partly erected Occlumency shields.

Draco didn't want to be influenced that way.

Couldn't.

"He is fine." Blaise answered for him, but his piercing gaze hovered over Draco, the dark eyes so void of the emotions Draco knew to be there: the concern, the unasked questions, the promise of a discussion yet to come…

And wasn't that a conversation to look forward to? 'I know you quickly become addicted to that bond, but you know what? I can't stand how exhilarating and intoxicating it is so let's just get it over with and push the boy out of bed.' Yesss, that would surely go down well.  
Never mind that Harry was sweet and considerate and fair and that it felt good to be in contact with someone who didn't play mind games all the time - well, never, to be exact. Never mind that he had found enjoyable now what he had despised in Hogwarts from a distance: oh, Draco had loathed it when that willingness to help, all that zeal and intense attention was focused on all those dumb trolls that were so much like black holes: ever sucking everything up without it having any effect at all aside from bereaving other, more deserving people of what they took so carelessly. But Merlin, it felt good when that very intensity was directed at him and Blaise.

God, he wanted that bond to work; just not like this… not if the cost was his or their integrity of mind.  
He really needed to talk to Adler. Perhaps there was a way of avoiding such a blend of selves between the three of them without having to give up the entire bond. For now, though, there was a submissive to entertain. A too perceptive submissive, who, Draco feared, might balk if he thought them to be indecisive or insincere.

"Nothing wrong, Harry, sweet." Draco said with a masterfully faked smile - one wasn't crowned the Ice Prince of Slytherin without a powerful family and a good portion of charisma and acting skills. Then, as if to prove his words he reached out to the smaller teen and gently manoeuvred him to stand in front of him, facing the mirror. "Why don't you try to transform now?"

But despite his considerable talent as an actor, Draco could see Harry hesitating and he prayed the Gryffindor would be sensible enough to not press him now, even if he noticed anything wrong. For some gruellingly long moments, the brunet watched Draco's reflection in the mirror before he seemed to come to some conclusion, fortunately one in Draco's favour: with an almost imperceptible shrug and a curt nod, he said "Yeah, lets."

* * *

Inwardly Blaise cursed. Draco had been right: they should have waited.

He had not known that the connection would be so intense. It had certainly not been like this in the hospital when it had only been him and the submissive and he could only speculate as to why that was. Maybe it was the fact that Harry's subconsciously steered magic had been much more controlled than the chaos the three of them had fabricated; maybe it was for the simple reason that there were three of them now where there had only been two, or it was because they had consciously witnessed the sensations and emotions of each other when before that, Harry's magic had surveyed Blaise's body without reporting anything back to its owner.  
Whatever the reason, the connection had been too intense for comfort even though the Occlumency shield had helped some; and now they had to deal with the implications. Whatever they were.

Though it seemed that it had affected him and Draco more than Harry, probably because the submissive had been the aggressor during this connection. Or the Gryffindor was simply better equipped to deal with a situation like this.

On another thought, perhaps Severus' instructions in Occlumency had gotten the poor Gryffindor used to getting his mind violated.

A rather harrowing thought. One that inspired him to teach the potions master a lesson of his own in due time. Perhaps he would.

Still, that this had happened was Blaise's fault for pressing so resolutely towards this little experiment and he certainly would apologize to Draco once they were alone. For now, he was unsure how composed his fiancé really was after this unexpected experience and how much was acted and so Blaise was infinitely grateful that Harry seemed to be empathetic enough to know when to keep his silence.

Sure enough the smaller brunet quite readily followed their instructions and not even an hour later the youngest seeker in over a century proved that his talent for flying was not restricted to a broom. Well, at least someone seemed to have benefitted from Blaise's lapse in judgment.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Thanks for reading! This was such a long chapter… I hope you liked it!

And soon the story is starting to get a little bit darker again, so I hope I managed to appease you somewhat in advance with the last chapters.

Now a piece of bad news: I'm about to start the last real terms of my studies (I'll still have to do my master thesis, but there won't be any courses). I will be very, very busy for the next 5 months so please forgive me when I don't manage to update for some time.  
I really like writing on this story and I won't give it up. But the grades I get will define my life, so they have priority.


	15. First Flight

**CHAPTER 15: First Flight**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Firstly: I am sorry for not having answered the reviews of the last chapter. The start of the new term was somewhat chaotic.

Secondly: This chapter should have originally not been written by me, but there were some unforeseen difficulties and after 5 weeks since uploading chapter 14 I found myself writing it anyway. And then I managed to write 12000 words in two weeks… I'm not going to do that again, it's bleeding me out.  
I and Neon-Panda are truly sorry for the long wait and promise to try and not do it again.

I might at one point rewrite this chapter, as I currently can't give it the time that it deserves. I had a very tough time during the last two months: my mother had a stroke, and her mother had a stroke, too (I hope that doesn't lie in the family) and one of my dogs was in surgery due to a malign cancer. While my mother was only lightly affected and only suffers from a prolonged weariness now, my grandmother is still in hospital and my dog Cida might still have metastases that we do not know of yet. Only today I felt another knot in her stomach and I'm afraid of what that might possibly mean.  
I'm still going to update as often as possible and I hope you'll forgive me if some points of this chapter seem stilted. It's either updating it like this or stopping and I don't want that since writing at this point seems to do me good.

For now this will have to do…

* * *

A persistent feeling of elation still pulsed through Harry's body like the echo of an electric shock, defying the sudden sense of loss and loneliness and the deep-routing confusion that followed the break of their connection.  
Why the hell had Draco stepped away? He had thought all three of them were enjoying themselves, basking in the closeness, intensity and intimacy after the initial discomfort at the unexpected sensations (and at the identity of the participants) had faded. He himself certainly had…

Harry took a deep breath, congratulating himself when it didn't appear to be shivering. That must be the understatement of the century! But enjoying it so much had in itself been unanticipated to say the least. But explainable, he thought.

All his life he had been alone in some way or the other; that, he really couldn't deny: Harry had been lonely on his own at the Dursleys' without any long-term, real friends that Dudley hadn't managed to scare away sooner rather than later with his not so empty threats and his gang of bullying retards; alone during the long summers after his 11th birthday in that same hell-hole; alone with his problems of mad wizards trying to kill him all his life, and the burden of being predestined to kill the mightiest of them or be killed himself – Harry had never wanted to endanger his friends and had tried to keep them away from the most precarious of situations (not that he had been very successful in that endeavour) and besides that, Hermione and Ron only could follow him and lend him their support so far: in the end he had had to deal with the visions and the fulfilment of the prophesy himself.

And now this.

He had never felt so close to anyone before, never so _not alone_. Warm and secure and safe he had felt with the emotions of his companions openly visible in front of him. There had been no secrets, no withholding, only the honesty that had been so often denied to him in his life even by the people closest to him. Even after Blaise and Draco had hidden their feelings away behind the thickest Occlumency shields they could muster, he had still been able to read from their body language the thoughts that usually were indecipherable to him. The ease in their posture, a small twitch of the corner of a mouth, a fluttering in the stomach; it had told him all he needed to know – as well as telling him what to focus on in the future.  
He had been surprised that for the moment there had been no hidden agenda to be felt at the back of their minds. Instead, their presences in his own mind had been so comforting and soothing, chasing away all of his apprehensions at the transformation for the time being and cradling his curiosity and amazement like something precious.

From the bottom of his heart, Harry had enjoyed that openness, that closeness, that feeling of being held and treasured … or something coming close to that at least.  
It was something worth striving for, and for the first time since the full moon Harry felt as if bonding to a dominant Vykélari might have its benefits after all. He didn't need more magical power, he didn't need more influence in the magical world and so he hadn't seen anything worthwhile in this whole affair but this level of secureness and comfort, this level of connectedness, understanding and… and intimacy was something he would not be able to find anywhere else… of that he was almost sure. Ginny was the closest he had come to truly loving someone and even with her there was always some part of himself that hid, that needed to protect her by keeping secrets. This bond had been and meant something else altogether.

A shame, really, that it had not happened with people he actually trusted. Oh, he hadn't lied to Draco, not in the true sense of the word, he was ready to forgive him for what he had done during their school days and in the war, but he would not forget, not that easily. He did not blame him or accuse the blond Slytherin, but their joined past had taught him to maintain a healthy wariness, more so than he would have if it had been a total stranger instead: Draco now needed to prove his trustworthiness instead of his untrustworthiness, and that was always harder to do.  
Which was alright. The deal with Ives' only stated that Harry needed to give them an honest chance, and that was exactly what he was doing. He was not being hostile anymore or tried to flee, he went along with their plans even if they made him uncomfortable. They could not expect more of him when he was still trying to get used to the idea of being the object of someone else's desire, let alone of a boy, much less two boys. Two boys, who had additionally graced him only with sneers and insults in the past, had slandered his best friends in the worst ways possible, tried to get them all expelled and generally spared no effort to make him miserable. And now those same teenagers regarded him with glances and gazes he didn't even want to contemplate and kept bestowing fleeting touches on him, which, to crown it all, had the brass neck of actually feeling good.

He still thought that had something to do with his magic reacting to theirs. He couldn't _really_ like it, now, could he?

But why then – if it felt so good, if it was what the two dominants wanted from him – why then had Draco broken away? Why was he so disconcerted now? And he was, the Gryffindor knew him well enough to know when something unsettled him. Their long history as bitter enemies had taught Harry much about the blond and even though he had changed somewhat, had undeniably grown and matured since those days, he was still Draco Malfoy and his eyes still narrowed and flashed when he was confronted with something that displeased him greatly.  
Now he was doing exactly that. But he didn't seem angry, just uncomfortable and oddly conflicted and Harry remembered how nervous and reluctant the sensations coming from the blond had felt like right at the beginning of the temporary bond. Still it seemed wrong that something he had found so exhilarating, would disconcert Draco so much.

Thoughtfully and a little bit concerned he considered the blond Slytherin in the mirror, looking at their reflections over one of his pale shoulders – which were broader than normal with the additional wing muscles – right into the delicately chiselled features.

"Are you alright?" He asked hesitantly, wondering if the blond would mind the question – sometimes Slytherins seemed awfully intent on pretending they had no feelings at all aside from pride in themselves, their families and their way of life.  
But the few minutes of connectedness had taught him much about the two other teenagers, not least of all that they were not as cold and guarded and calculating as they purported to be. They were protective and supportive of each other and, oddly enough, of him. He had sensed in some way how angry Blaise had become over Snape, the odd sense of awareness that it concerned his former potions master and a sharp irritation had flashed through his mind like a blade of white hot fire and – he couldn't explain how or why – he had known that it was for his sake. And the gentle coaxing, the patient explanations… Draco's insecurity; no, all of this showed that they were far from being cold.

Still, as if his uttered words had provided him with the necessary incitement, Draco recovered his bearings and his expression evened out into a polite mask, still friendly, but closed. Harry almost sighed: obviously he had once again breached some etiquette rule no one had bothered to tell him about. His unrest took shape further, when Draco kept silent and his eyes averted.

Well, he thought, a mild annoyance rising within him, they had better not expect him to become the perfectly well-behaved, eloquent pureblooded _actor_, or the deal with Ives was off. He was not changing himself, not for just anyone and never if he didn't think it justified.

Something else flashed through his mind then as he remembered the conversation earlier with the other submissive now in light of the newly discovered, obvious reluctance of the two dominants before him: would Draco and Blaise unknowingly cancel the deal with Ives by making him leave? Both of them had seemed taken aback by the sensations coming through their connection at first and the way Draco reacted now made it clear that something was not quite right and that they hadn't expected the bond – the _temporary_ bond – between them to be that intense. Maybe the Slytherins, who treasured their masks and pretty facades so much, just couldn't deal with that level of exposure? Maybe they didn't desire the bond any longer?

That in itself might not be as bad, though he was starting to get along with them just fine right now, but if they had no real esteem for him as a person, if they just saw him as a submissive to be played with and exploited, they might retract their protection, send him away to his friends, whom Harry would endanger with his presence. Or was that a lie? God, he didn't know, he just didn't know and he didn't want to even chance to endanger them again after all they had been through in the past. If anyone deserved safety and peace right now, surely it was them…

Furthermore: who would teach him if they made him leave? Draco and Blaise had proven to be surprisingly competent in that regard and he did need them to harness his new powers or he himself would stay a danger to anyone in his presence. If he returned to his friends just now or to other allies, he would not only draw the attention of other Vykélari to them, make them targets, no, he would also force them into the presence of his highly powerful, highly volatile magic that might lash out in a moment's notice at anyone if he lost control.

Like it had done with Blaise.

Only that, during that particular afternoon, he had still been weak from magical exhaustion. How bad would it become if he was well rested?

There was so much he needed to learn. After listening to Ives that had become frighteningly clear.

And right now, with all these changes, all these problems piling up in front of him to mountainous dimensions, Lanai Manor was proving to be a better and more comfortable environment than anything he could have imagined. It was virtually dreamlike after living in a battle-scarred England, a reprieve for his mind that did him much good, he couldn't deny that, especially now, with the knowledge that he would be able to leave in time for the next term in Hogwarts easing his mind.

Would they make him…

"He is fine," Blaise said from behind him, reassuringly squeezing his shoulder for a moment, but Harry saw his deep, dark gaze flitting to his lover who still stood between Harry and the oversized mirror. Blaise was, of course, aware of his fiancé's doubts, too.

Would they make him leave? Of course Blaise had promised him a safe haven in Lanai Manor but could he trust him to keep it? Harry knew almost nothing about the dark skinned Italian, aside from the fact that he loved Draco dearly and that he would probably chose his side if the blond wanted Harry gone. And that was maybe a not so unlikely possibility: if he found he couldn't bear the sensations of a true mating bond, then he might perceive that as a personal failure and if Harry had learned anything about the Slytherin Ice Prince then it was that he hated reminders of his failures.  
Uncertain, Harry gazed at Draco, who smiled at him, but though it seemed honest and light, Harry was aware that the blond was nowhere near as calm and collected as he pretended to be.

_'Don't send me away!'_

"Nothing wrong, Harry, sweet." He said with disarming nonchalance before he reached out for him, and – raising and folding his wings so Harry could pass through beneath them, he steered him forwards by the gentle grip on his shoulder until Harry stood in front of him, encountering the steel grey eyes in the mirror. "Why don't you try to transform now?"

Long moments passed, while Harry tried to gauge the Slytherin's mood and his reaction. What would he do if they made him leave? Ives' words came to his mind, unbidden, baleful words:  
_Dominants are allowed to collect you and use whatever method necessary to force you to mate. In some cases dominants did blackmail submissives into mateships by threatening loved ones and were never convicted. Who would you turn to, Mr. Potter? Who would you willingly endanger?_

No one.

He was the Boy-Who-Had-Survived-Too-Many-Times-To-Count, the one who others looked to for protection. He wasn't supposed to need it in return and though he knew just how ridiculous that notion was, the feeling was there nonetheless.  
And, damn it, he had led his friends too often into danger. Hermione and Ron had a future with each other now to look forward to, they needed to live their own lives now that they had survived the war. It was not fair if he took that away from them again.

And he didn't think he could survive Ron turning from him once more. Of course they had all been influenced by that thrice damned locked when his best friend had left him and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt, and yet… it was probably better not to ask to begin with and be disappointed…

Harry couldn't turn to Ginny either, he had tried so hard to keep her away from dangers and problems that were _his_ to battle! How could he drag her or the other Weasleys into something of this dimensions so shortly after Riddle's demise? And Remus and Tonks had the little Ted to care for now, his godson.

Besides, if he had understood it correctly, they were not even legally allowed to protect him from other dominants. So the only thing he would achieve was endangering them with his own wonky magic and forcing them to infringe several laws out of loyalty.

No, in the end he needed to be honest with himself and admit that there was no one he wanted to get involved in this mess that was his life right now. Therefore he would be alone with this problems if Draco and Blaise decided not to help him any longer and so in consequence the uncomfortable truth was that he depended on them, on his former enemy who he had made peace with only a short time ago, and a Slytherin he still didn't really know. He hadn't wanted to accept it before, but with the conversation of Ives so fresh in his memory and the fear of being turned away, he had to acknowledge it nonetheless.

Well, at least it seemed that he had been given some reprieve. Blaise and Draco seemed intent on postponing all decisions until after the two of them had talked in private. Maybe it was a good sign that they (vainly) tried to keep him unaware of the problem and that they wanted to continue with the lesson instead of excusing themselves directly to discuss their next steps. As long as they covered it up, they would not take immediate action.

Shrugging once to dislodge the apprehension that had overcome him, Harry gave the blond a curt nod, turning his gaze, though not his full attention, towards his own reflection in the mirror.

He would fly. Maybe if he showed himself eager to learn, willing to yield to at least some of their wishes, maybe they'd allow him to stay until he could end this farce?

_'Not a farce!'_ Harry reminded himself fiercely, once again angry at his failure to stay objective. Well, he had never been _really_ good at that. Rationality and empathy had been Hermione's domain, to some extent at least. But now, he needed to be just that: he had promised Ives to give Draco and Blaise an _honest_ chance. And so an honest chance was what they'd get.

Taking a deep breath, Harry threw one short glance at the two Slytherins behind him, to see if they were as apprehensive as he was, but either they weren't or they were better at hiding it. Most likely it was a bit of both. Harry himself felt just more apprehensive now that his worries were breaking through the elation he had felt during their connection, causing it to dissipate like a construct of mist in a sudden breeze and he was slowly beginning to remember his own transformation, the nightmarish hours he had lived through and that were so hard to banish from his memory.

But he hadn't ever fled from Dementors, just because of the fear and desperation they evoked in him.

Maybe they had seen the uncertain flicker in his eyes, but the pale and the dark Slytherin both smiled at him with expressions Harry rather guessed were meant to be encouraging (he also guessed that they had had little exercise in such things), and Draco's slender fingers touched the points of his back at exactly the position corresponding to where he had earlier seen the new joints forming under Draco's pale skin. The fingers were gentle and of a soft texture, softer than his own were, but they moved with more intent and poise, pressing against his skin rather than caressing it, which Harry was glad for at that moment, the touch felt intimate enough as it was and he fought not to shiver.  
"Here, Harry." The blond murmured softly, the voice caressing like his fingers were not. "Don't think about the process, your magic has memorized it. Think only of the end result."

Without hesitation, Harry glanced up into stormy grey eyes and briefly he had to wonder if Draco really had found their connection that intolerable, surely he wouldn't willingly get so close to him now if that had been the case? Maybe it was just that overly pragmatic side he could from time to time exhibit: after completing the transformation and having showed Harry just what he and Blaise had intended to, after alleviating his apprehensions, maybe he had just not seen any use in maintaining the bond?  
But seeing as Draco really had been shaken – and Harry didn't think he had been mistaken in that observation – Harry thought that it was probably just another attempt to distract his mind and keep him from focusing too hard on his memories.

Feeling a little bit more grateful for the thoughtfulness, assuming it had been that, Harry wetted his lips and again took a deep breath, letting it slowly out in a steady stream until his lungs were empty and the knot in his chest had loosened somewhat. Then, he began to will forth his wings.

They would be heavy on his back, Harry remembered, not uncomfortably so, or like a real hindrance, but a noticeably weight, nonetheless. And green. A flashing green like the bolt of light that was an Avada Kedavra.  
'No, not quite', he thought, clenching his jaws together and frowning. A bit darker and lighter at the same time, deeper and richer. The many nuances interweaving almost playfully. They had encompassed him as he had lain on the ground in his bed chamber after awaking for the first time, like the protective cocoon of a silkworm, so soft.

They had mocked him then with their presence, because he had not wanted them to be there. Now he _did_.

_'You are going to emerge, because I _will_ you to!'_

Something shifted just below his shoulder blade, his magic maybe, coiling and moving endlessly like a nest of serpents, drawing together to get to work and he could feel Draco retracting his fingers, so that Harry's growing wings would not face any pressure at all, not encounter any resistance. He wondered if Draco had felt the jolt of magic just waiting under his tan skin.

_'Emerge_ now_!'_He ordered.

And they did. His bones moved oddly against each other, not at all painfully, just in a weird, grating way that was neither pleasant nor really uncomfortable.

"Slowly, Harry." Blaise reminded him, mildly, just as Harry was about to decide that he didn't need to draw this out as much as Draco had. He really didn't want to see featherless wings erupt from his own back, regardless of whether his instructors had found his disgust amusing… it reminded him too much of a plucked chicken.  
But Blaise was right, he didn't want his bones to pierce his skin, either.

Before he could draw a conscious decision, however, he could feel a steady pressure against the skin of his back and knew from when he had been observing Draco so closely that the growing bones of his wings would dent out the skin, make it grow with it. As if in fast motion, he saw his wings extend, quickly, so quickly! His heart beat a little bit faster in his chest.  
For a moment Harry was tempted to look away from the mirror that reflected his transformation, and which withheld nothing from him as he saw the skinny appendages that clearly showed where the bones ran, surrounded by a layer of different muscles that he would have to learn to address correctly in flight. But then, feathers appeared – small and downy at first, covering the whole of his still growing wings. The expression 'tarred and feathered' flashed briefly through his mind, making him erupt into a broad grin, but that stage only lasted for a moment and Harry felt his grin soften into a smile as his feathers lengthened and firmed up, locking together at the edges to form a smooth surface that could resist the heavy pressures of the winds.

Then, his wings were complete, though they were shorter as he remembered them being, Harry thought, with almost neat edges, and sharp tips. And they _glowed_ in the sun, that was still standing behind them and thus infused the green feathers with a golden light, lending them a halo, like sunlight through leaves, and a sense of otherworldliness almost.

Harry pressed his lips together, so that his grin might not become too goofily wide. He had done it. Here his wings were, in flesh and blood literally, his flesh and blood, and it hadn't hurt at all.

Behind him, Draco spread his pale feathered, downy wings in such a way that they seemed to frame Harry's own, smaller but sharper ones in hat huge mirror. It made quite a striking combination, Harry had to admit, that silver grey, almost white and that intense green. They could have been Slytherin colours, but the nuances were not quite right: too pale, too luminous and too varied; so Harry could endure the fleeting comparison without too much annoyance, even without a frown.

"Beautifully done, Harry." Blaise said behind them. He ducked down and crawled through the gap beneath their combined wings and the roof to come to stand in front of them, a wide, honestly happy smile lighting his features and a teasing glint in his eyes, which were, with the sunlight flooding them directly from behind Harry and Draco, of a brightly glowing amber. "If I may say so: that was certainly a more elegant transformation than Draco usually carries out!"

The offended Slytherin merely gave an annoyed huff, lifted his own feathered wings and shifted them forwards as if he intended to embrace Harry and Blaise in them, but he stopped in time, letting them hover over the two of them like a protective barrier instead. He didn't grace his fiancé with a single glance as he stepped closer to the boy in front of him, trying awkwardly to draw him in a loose hug from behind – which presented itself as quite a difficult task, seeing as Harry's still respectable, though smaller, wings were in the way. Finally he settled with putting his hands on Harry's slim hip and laying his chin on his shoulder.

"I knew you of all people wouldn't let yourself be held back by memories." He whispered into the younger Gryffindor's ear, staring at the submissive's reflection in something akin to warm pride, but Harry could hear the smug smile in his voice.

That didn't annoy Harry as much as it would have only some days ago; no, instead he savoured the praises coming from people who, Harry thought, would surely be very parsimonious with such words usually. At least he couldn't imagine them giving random compliments to their friends.  
But Harry reminded himself that that didn't have to mean anything, after all they were trying to beguile him and so he raised his chin, defiantly, only half-jokingly and with an unvoiced challenge flashing in his eyes he said in an exact replica of Draco's haughtiest tone of voice "I won't let myself be held back by anything … or anyone." And left the _'And don't you ever try to again!'_ unspoken.

And as if to prove it – his independence and his stubborn will – and of course, to show off a little bit as well as sating his own nagging curiosity at what he looked like, he demanded his magic to answer to him and bring forth all the other Vykélari traits that he hadn't allowed his body to show since the full moon. With a lazy head-shake, silky, emerald feathers burst through his thick, black locks, as if they had hidden beneath and between his tresses and the single shaking of his head had made them fall from their hiding places and reveal themselves. They mussed up his hair even further, disrupting what little order he and a brush had enforced on them earlier that morning, and made the skin on his head tingle pleasantly with the magic that had gathered there and from the new physical presence of each feather.  
At the same time the skin around his eyes paled, and it was that same sparkling ultraviolet, a colour that he had never seen on himself but had discovered on several plants in the gardens and even in some of the portraits and paintings of the manor. It emphasized his eyes and made them glow now: gems of leaf green surrounded by an almost white. Fascinated he reached up to touch the appearing mask, wondering what the skin now felt like, only to have Blaise gently grasp his wrist, shaking his head mildly.  
"Your claws, Harry." He reminded, and Harry had the sudden feeling that there was a new depth to his voice, that it was slower somehow and … and knowing that the Italian's voice shouldn't be so distinctly audible, not when he was speaking so softly, made Harry realise that the transformation was also affecting his hearing very noticeably. He hadn't realised just how much it did in the hospital, not having had a direct comparison available, but now… well, he should have know, after all hadn't he been told that the manor had sound-proof walls for the sole reason that Vykélari with their extraordinary hearing could still find peace and quiet within it and to offer privacy to its inhabitants and save rooms for secret conversations?

In any case, Blaise was right: each of his fingers ended in the dark greyish, almost one and a half inch long talons. He had been shocked and even a little bit devastated the last time he had seen them upon waking in the manor, but now with the certain knowledge that he would be able to retract them, they didn't bother him quite as much, aside from being a real hindrance all the time whenever he tried to touch something.

He nodded curtly to Blaise to let him know that he had understood and taken the warning but as he tore away his gaze from the deadly poisonous talons, his attention was immediately drawn back to his own reflection, visible over the dark Italian's shoulder: from his temples, starting from beyond his hairline, several green lines, varying in their thickness and brightness, flowed over his brow, in swirls and curls along his forehead, eye-lids and cheek-bones, encompassing his wide green eyes like a Victorian filigree mask, never leaving the blurred band of ultraviolet around his eyes that in its brightness drew even more attention to the unusual mask.  
It gave him a – for him – strangely exotic appearance, handsome, yes, but exotic and unfamiliar. Harry didn't quite know yet if he liked it, so different was it, but he guessed he would get used to it, in time.

Turning his gaze away, and, remembering the other markings that had graced his body the last time he had transformed, Harry carefully leaned sideways to gaze around Blaise's broad back at the reflection of his sides in the mirror, where another set of lines grew from his hip upwards, from beneath Draco's pale hands, which tightened on the markings.  
Annoyed, Harry swatted at them, leaving it to Draco to keep himself from being scratched. This was really taking too many liberties.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" he demanded, or tried to demand, really, since all that came out of his mouth was the hoarse, scolding screech of an enraged crow.  
Exasperatedly Harry mused, he should be starting to get used to that: whenever he really tried to give it to his hosts straight, his new body didn't let him. His own body. How typical.

He settled for glaring at Blaise instead, who was obviously fighting not to laugh, the strain of the effort making his lips twitch (he didn't want to look at Draco right then, as he barely covered his chuckles with suspicious coughing), while he concentrated on human words again. Moments later, Harry transformed his syrinx back into his human voice box, only barely feeling the slight shift in his throat.

"You!" He hissed at Blaise, noticing with satisfaction that clearly discernible, firmly spoken words darted from his lips "Stop smirking. And you!" he continued, this time glaring at the pale blond. "Stop laughing, and keep your hands to yourself!"

"I'm sorry, Harry." Blaise said, still smiling. "It's just…"

"… oh, so funny. Yes, I know!" Harry growled. But he wasn't really angry, he might have even laughed himself, if their positions had been reversed; but well, it was starting to grate on his nerves that they were so much more knowledgeable in all these Vykélari … things … matters … whatever.  
"Didn't we want to fly? Will you show me how, or not?" He asked impatiently.

"Of course, if you wish." Blaise relented amiably and nodded towards Draco, who finally tamed his chuckles into a grin and vanished the mirror with a lazy wave of his wand. Almost, Harry did regret it not being there any more: firstly, he was no longer able to see what Draco was doing behind his back, and secondly… well, he somehow felt that there were still so many things to discover with his body's new appearance and he hadn't quite looked his fill yet.

There would be time later for that, however.

Not having anything else to look at, Harry turned to Blaise, who now regarded him once more earnestly and with an almost tender expression. "I am glad that you were able to transform completely. You already went a long way to overcome what you went through that night and I hope the memories won't trouble you further."

Awkwardly, Harry lowered his gaze, flushing faintly from shame and embarrassment and searched futilely for anything to answer. He had never wanted to appear weak in front of the two Slytherins, never wanted them to see that losing his magic and encountering such levels of agony and fear when he hadn't known what was happening had achieved what Voldemort and his followers never had in all those years. But although he had known that this would be the consequence of asking after the transformation and the pain he had felt, he had needed the reassurance. And they hadn't batted an eye-lash and they were not mocking or teasing him, but they _knew_, and that was bad enough.  
To add to his embarrassment, the Italian was not yet finished. "If they do, don't hesitate to speak up right away or to search us out. _Whenever_." He added with emphasis.

Harry kept silent and bit his lips, hoping that his cheeks weren't as red as they felt like. He would certainly not go to them and ask for help _whenever_. Nonetheless he murmured a barely discernible "Okay." And hoped that would suffice… Merlin, he had never known Slytherins could be so prone to worrying and protectiveness. … Maybe that old Sorting Hat was wiser than students usually gave it credit for, Harry could still remember the first song he had heard, treasuring the memory: _'Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends'_ … A tight-knitt group they were, those Snakes. But he almost had to smirk a little bit as he looked at Blaise and Draco. _Real friends_, huh?

But the longer the silent moment between them lasted, the less amused and the more fidgety Harry became, until Draco nudged his shoulder and said teasingly. "The proper thing to say would be 'thank you'."

"Git!" Harry grumbled only half-earnestly and glared over his shoulder at Draco's grinning form, making both of the other young men laugh out. But the awkward moment at least was gone.

"Now Harry," Blaise began, and led the Gryffindor to the middle of the roof, facing south-east. "We'll teach you to fly."

At those words, Harry's heart made a distinct leap and now he really felt reminded of the day he had first flown on a broom on the grounds of Hogwarts, without any gloomy thoughts of pain remembered; with the transformation now behind him, all he felt was the nervous excitement, the fear of embarrassing himself, of failing, the anticipation of being free of the ground and do something that mankind had always dreamt of: flying.  
Just like the eleven years old child he had been then, still amazed at everything magical.

"I guess you noticed that your wings are smaller and sharper tipped than when you first transformed?" Blaise asked and Harry nodded immediately, even though he had only seen his wings once from up close, cocooning him and only for some short minutes, yet the difference was palpable. Literally.

"So we can change the shape of our wings." He said pointlessly, only to show he was still listening, still following.

"Yes." Draco nodded, once again falling into his teacher-role, eager to give his charge more of an understanding of what it entailed to be a Vykélari. "You opted now for wings that are well suited for a high speed flight. But flying with these will cost you much energy, either magical or physical. Different shapes are suitable for different aspects of flight, you know. Long, narrow wings are well-suited for a slow, gliding flight and soaring. Short, curved wings that are broad and have a roughly elliptical shape make for an agile flight. And now, if you'd lengthen the outer feathers and spread them to get slots in between them, you'd be able to glide for hours – if the wind is favourable and your magic strong enough, which of course won't be a problem for you. Well, and they will support an easier take-off, so I'd advise you to lengthen the primary feathers… that are the ones on the outer side, at the wing tip." he added when Harry blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Curious, Harry pulled his wings closer, bending them and folding them inwards so that he could directly scrutinize the feathers. They were fascinating to look at, that he had to admit and he couldn't help but flap a little bit up and down, watching with rapt attention how the feathers curved and strained against the resistance of the air, how they caught the light and let it burn over them in flashes of green flames.

Blaise smiled at him, and seeing the warm approval in his expression, Harry remembered how disappointed the Italian had been when he had insisted on his natural – well, his _human_ – sight. It seemed strange that it had been so important for him and Draco even then, that Harry himself should find pleasure in the smallest things his inheritance had bestowed upon him without being asked. He filed that thought away for a later time when he would have the leisure to ponder it more thoroughly, when Blaise spoke.  
"They are of an exceptionally beautiful colour, colibrí mio."

Briefly Harry wondered if he should take offence at being compared to such a tiny bird – the similarity to the word kolibri, the hummingbird was easy enough to grasp – but then he discarded the thought again in favour of more important matters: "How do I change the shape?"

"Just like anything else, with will." Draco answered and then went to show Harry the exact wing shape to adapt. Only moments later, the green feathers shifted and grew along with the complete structure of his green wings until Harry stood there with the wings of an eagle raised high above his head.

"That's it!" Draco said with evident eagerness. "Now you are properly equipped. And so we finally get to the fun part: the flying." Draco harrumphed slightly and automatically Blaise and Harry raised an equally exasperated look.

"What you have to understand first," Draco said pragmatically, reacting to the raised eyebrows with nothing more than the merest tightening around his pale lips, "is that humans, even those with wings, are physically unable to fly except under the most fortunate conditions."

"Draco!" Blaise scolded and Harry, feeling rather confused at that statement, saw him frown at his fiancé somewhat fiercely.  
"Ignore him." He then said to Harry, soothingly. "Technically, he is right, but I don't want you to concentrate too much on what is happening. Sometimes instincts are much more reliable than logic. And I think you are more like me in that respect: trust your body."

"It helped me!" The blond objected in that tone of voice someone would use when bringing forth the ultimate argument to end a discussion.

"Well, love, not everyone works like you." Blaise gave a crooked smile with such exasperated affection it made Harry bite his lower lip to suppress his amusement, especially when the blond cocked his head in mock affront, and declared with the haughty poise of the perfect Malfoy heir, "But the best do!"

"_Anyway_," Blaise rolled his eyes and then focused on Harry again. "The basics are pretty technical: when air is flowing over your wings, the form of your wings causes the air beneath your wing to be accelerated and directed downwards. It is compressed which increases the pressure, while the air is directed upwards above your wing, thus reducing the pressure. That gives you lift and enables you to glide." He summed up. Harry blinked. What was it with Slytherins trying to explain all the theory behind the most simplest of things instead of just _doing_ them? Honestly, they would so get along with Hermione if only they would change their attitudes and start speaking normally with muggleborns.

"To achieve enough lift to get off the ground, however, you need to get the air to flow very quickly over your wings. And while that technically is not possible for someone as heavy as a human because you can't run quickly enough while bowed forwards so that your wings are in a horizontal position, you can – being conveniently a wizard – accelerate the air instead. And being a Vykélari, you can do that wand- and wordlessly and even without thinking too much. After all, it only affects the air in the direct contact with your wings and your magic can handle that subconsciously. And if you change that thin layer of air, the surrounding wind currents are affected also."

"A-huh." Harry swallowed. He hadn't concerned himself with physics since entering the wizarding world at the age of eleven and to be honest, he had somewhat stopped following Blaise's explanations when the Italian had started to talk about different pressure levels.

"Don't worry, it's not important to understand that." Blaise continued, throwing a stern glance towards Draco who was pressing his lips together firmly to keep silent and had crossed his arms over his chest. He obviously didn't feel comfortable with the 'grit-your-teeth-and-get-to-it'-approach, Harry thought, not really surprised.  
"I didn't either, not really until I felt for myself what my cousin was trying to explain to me."

"Right." Harry said and kneaded the knuckles of his wand-hand, not quite convinced, yet very much determined to forget about pressures and lift for now and to fly like he had always flown on a broom: by instinct.

"Now come, Harry," Blaise said with a last encouraging glance at him before he turned and faced south-east, the coastline to his right. Harry followed, moving into the Italian's wake, Draco behind them.

With little ado, Blaise planted himself firmly on the roof top, his feet digging into the ground. In no longer than a few seconds his coppery wings burst from his back, spreading out behind him. They had also changed since the last time Harry had seen them: they were long now, and sharp-tipped and narrow like those of a sea gull.

It suited him better than the broad ones he had had when they had been swimming in the sea, Harry thought, as much as he seemed to love water.

A moment later the dark Italian leaned forwards slightly into the balmy wind, his wings curved to catch the currents, the feathers curling and bending backwards in the light breeze.  
"Always turn into the headwind!" he said, the huge appendages flapping almost lazily, the muscles flexing with well-practiced ease as he prepared to take off. The fabric of the shirt he still wore and which he had magically cut two slits into to make room for the two new limbs, stretched with every movement, every steady beat of is wings.

"You might want to magically lighten your body so that your wings won't have to carry quite as much weight. But don't overdo it, you need a certain weight or the wind will make you his new plaything." Draco interrupted from behind them and as if in reaction to his comment, Harry could see Blaise's stance shifting: the Italian leaned forwards into the headwind and his feet dug further into the ground to keep himself still; his wings kept beating steadily now, as he fought against the wind that was now a considerable force against the wide plane of his wings and his reduced weight.

His voice, though, was still unmoved, still unstrained as he addressed Harry next. "Then imagine wind flowing over your wings … and leap!"  
A sudden gust hit Harry hard as he was standing not far behind Blaise, and he had to narrow his eyes as it mercilessly whipped into his face. The dark Italian meanwhile had indeed jumped up into the air that caught him with open arms, it seemed, cradling the lean body in its currents, carrying him steadily upwards and still the wind was beating around him. Only its effect on Harry and Draco, still standing on the roof garden, diminished gradually as Blaise was borne farther and farther away from them.

With a silly, excited smile Harry followed him with his eyes, watching as the copper-winged teen started to circle above them for a minute before he began his slow decent towards the two of them again.

"I'll stay behind you." The blond reassured, coming up behind the brunet. "And levitate you when you lose control."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the other young man, still a teenager like himself, but matured before his time. Draco had his wand firmly in his hand, rolling it between his slender fingers. The thought that this very hawthorn wand had been directed at him numerous times in ill intent did not even cross his mind, only the surety that it – hawthorn and unicorn hair – and its master would not let him fall. He smiled, but also raised an eyebrow at the doubt in his flying abilities that Draco was portraying. Again. One would think Slytherins should have a steeper learning curve.

But Draco only shook his head lightly and explained. "Flying with your own wings is much more difficult than on a broom, which only requires you to sit steady upon it and not fidget. I expect you to fall at one point or the other today. Everyone does during their first flying lesson."

"You, too?"

"Of course." Draco nodded. "More than once in fact, I assure you. So don't take it to heart if you don't get it right the first few times or even today at all. We'll simply try again and practice with you until we can hunt for the snitch together."  
He tilted his head, his eyes and smirk flashing a challenge. "I'd like that."

Harry laughed. "I bet! Then I'll just have to see to it that you won't have to wait too long. And you should brace yourself for a sound trashing, Malfoy!"

Draco frowned a little bit offended. "Are we back to surnames, now?"

"Only when we are competing." Harry answered unconcernedly with a dismissive gesture. "You know, sometimes it's as if you had two different personalities: Malfoy, the prat who lives to make me miserable and Draco the … well, the … the _other extreme_…"  
And before any expression on the blond's face – be it surprise, mirth or offence … or that ever present haughty smirk – could make him regret that remark and cause him to flush even further, Harry turned into the headwind and spread his wings wide. It didn't save him from Draco's clear laughter, though, that rang through the air.

"No part of me lives to make you miserable nowadays. But to say that some part of me always lived to get your attention, now that just might have some truth to it."

Surprised, Harry turned, but before any further inquiry could have made it past his lips, Draco had already clapped his hands and stepped forward. "Well then, _Harry_," he drawled, his eyes still sparkling with laughter. "If monsieur would like to continue now…" And with an elegant, expansive gesture he invited Harry to proceed.

* * *

In the end Draco was right: It took him a little bit to figure out how to take off, mostly because the success depended largely on the strength of the lightening charm he used on himself wand- and wordlessly, an accomplishment he was rather proud of but which, Blaise told him, he would be able to do rather easily and without much training as long as the magic stayed close to his body. As soon as the effects were more far reaching however, Harry would most likely still need his wand for as long as he stayed without a mate to help him control his magic.  
For now though, the exact strength for the lightening charm caused Harry enough problems: if he became too light, he had not enough to counter the wind with, and once he started the sudden gust that was supposed to let him reach sufficient "lift", as Draco and Blaise called it, he was simply blown backwards (and Draco really had to catch him the one time or the other); but if his charm was too weak, he was too heavy to get off the ground.

But after a few failed attempts, and much frustration on Harry's part, he managed to really leave the ground of the roof garden for the first time.

Like during his previous tries, Harry spread his wings wide and forced his already burning muscles into the repetitive, vigorous flapping movements that were so exhausting – he had never thought that air alone would put up so much resistance.  
Forward and down he pushed his wings, the air pressing against them insistently, and then he pulled them up again, felt the outer feathers rotate slightly like the slats of a jalousie. It broke the integrity of his wings and made upward movements so much easier than the downward stroke, as the air could simply flow through in between the feathers.

But the feather rotation felt weird.

Up and down, up and down, smoothly, steadily. And then he reduced his weight, wished himself to be lighter. He did that gradually until he knew that with much force, he would theoretically be able to get off the ground with several strong beats. But he wouldn't. He didn't have the strength anymore, because Blaise and Draco had been right and using muscles he had never used before was just so damn exhausting…  
Almost he didn't feel the tingling of magic, barely perceptible, rushing into his wings, but he was becoming better now with sensing the currents of his own magic. It was a pulsing, desiring thing, wanting to be used so strongly that it kept reacting to his thoughts. Now it flowed into his muscles like an energetic balm, trickling into them continuously until they prickled and heated and were soothed and energized all the same. And then it wasn't only the power of his muscles beating, it was all of him, all of what was Harry, his wings, his magic, his body moved smoothly with each flap.

It was then that he knew he was ready. Wind through his hair, on his wings, ruffling the feathers. The image was in his mind only a fracture of a second before the sensations were on his body. A wind took hold, no gust. He didn't need something so sudden, he needed something more stable and in contrast to the two dominants, his magic was powerful enough to keep up more than just a short gust and do that again and again and again without much effort. It wished fervently to do more, so he let it.

And he kept flapping.

His feet were almost skidding over the ground, he had to reduce the wind and when it did without him consciously making it do so, Draco called out to him "Now, Harry!" and Harry jumped, leaped forward, letting his whole weight fall into the air currents that he himself was producing. They kept pressing against him and he kept his wings rigid and with the artificial air stream flowing so steadily around him he was able to hover on the spot, against the wind.

That was not enough. Harry wanted to fly, not hover, not soar or glide. On his broom, he had always enjoyed fast flying more than the calm, slow rounds some did for relaxation and this wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Harry reduced the wind and flapped his wings downward with all force, propelling himself forward, ever forward and with a velocity that surprised him. His heart skipped a beat when he passed the edge of the roof top and almost he lost his balance from the short flutter of nervousness. There was nothing beneath him, no broom to hold onto, and the ground was far… if he fell, if his wings faltered… But he knew that Blaise was in front of him, and Draco still stood on the roof, his wand out, watching him like a hawk and they would keep him safe and why shouldn't he risk it?

With the wind no longer whipping into his face and against his wings, Harry used all the strength he had, the combined forces of magic and muscles, to gain height and speed. It wasn't easy. The natural currents were much more unpredictable than he had anticipated. He kept faltering for short moments, whenever he flew right through warmer regions and his stomach seemed to drop as the thermal lifted him upwards. But, god, he loved that feeling! He laughed and mafficked and flapped stronger. Now he knew what Blaise had meant when they told him the differences in pressure would raise him

"Harry! Harry! Not so high!" Someone shouted from behind him. It was probably Draco, since a moment later Blaise was at his side, ten metres away from him to his right, flapping furiously to keep up with Harry, who still pressed magic into his own wings to force them to continue the vigorous flight that his own muscles would never have supported. This was exhilarating.

"No!" he shouted back, grinning like a madman, and he wasn't sure if it was the magic intoxicating him or the flying. The wind rushed through his hair, letting the brilliant green feathers flutter violently, it whipped over his face, making his eyes tear up, it flowed over his wings, through the feathers, bending them, curving them. And his magic _sung_! God, it was pure elation. It had never been so much a part of him than ever before, exulting in being used for something this wonderful.  
There never had been anything better.

"Don't fly further Harry!" Blaise called over, sounding concerned. "You'll pass the wards soon!"

Immediately Harry slowed a bit and looked down. He was surprised to see the sea roll in waves towards the shore directly beneath them. They glittered in the sunlight like a carpet of gems and crystal. It looked so surreal from this height.

Then Harry turned his gaze upwards and really, he could almost see the slight flicker in the air; in any case he could feel them if he concentrated enough: A persistent pressure that prickled against his skin, that caused him to recoil. The wards. Which he wasn't allowed to pass. Which he had been _ordered_ not to pass.  
A rebellious sparkle rose in him and for a moment he wished he could heed it, just because Blaise had been such a bastard about it all and still hadn't apologized or taken back his stupid rules. But that would mean leaving the two dominants and that he couldn't do.

Nonetheless: if he went into a plummet from this height and passed the wards with such a velocity, then surely no House Elf would be able to react in time. He remembered that the fastest bird could dive … well, okay he didn't really remember how fast, but it was very fast, too quick a target for a House Elf to possibly hit with a stunner. That meant he wasn't necessarily dependant on Ives Malfoy's goodwill… when the time came for him to leave, he would be able to do so. But that time was not now and with how happy he felt at that very moment, Harry thought that that time could gladly stay in the far future where it belonged.

"Please, Harry, let's head back!"

Harry nodded, ready to set his feet back on solid ground. He was getting really tired and needed to push more and more magic into his wings; he knew as soon as he pulled it back, he would probably not be able to lift the wings even one more time. Tomorrow he would probably feel all stiff and aching.

He followed Blaise in a slow zigzag descent, turning alternately into and away from the headwind until they reached the roof top. The landing though was trickier than Harry had anticipated and he might have crashed hard onto the ground, had not Draco caught him with a quick levitation charm and set him down gently.

Immediately Harry let his wings melt back into the skin of his back, glad that their weight was literally lifted from his shoulders. Only then did he let the magic go that infused his muscles and almost cringed at the weariness that took its place, striking home with brutal force. He allowed himself to plop down, then, having neither the will nor the strength to stay upright.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked concernedly and rushed forward to kneel at Harry's side.

"Yeah." Harry smiled exhaustedly. "Just tired."

"Good!"

Blinking up at the smirking Slytherin questioningly, Harry wondered what he had done wrong now to cause this latest change in attitude. From concern to what … gloating? In less than three seconds.

"If you had flown like this when it was only your first time and you hadn't been bone-weary afterwards, my ego would have been badly bruised."  
Snorting, Harry let himself fall backwards. How typical.

"What he means to say is: well done." Blaise translated with a smile as he, too sat down next to his fiancé and the young Gryffindor. "But you really shouldn't depend so much on your magic, Harry. You should train those muscles."

"What do you think I did? If I hadn't used my muscles, my bag wouldn't hurt so much."

For a moment there was silence and Harry tilted his head up to see the two Slytherins share a smile and a glance beneath hidden lashes that to him seemed oddly ominous…

His premonition proved to be well-founded when Blaise leaned over him, supporting himself on one hand, while bringing the other up to brush Harry's hair aside from his sweaty brow. "I have just the prefect remedy against that."

Oh-oh. "I don't like back-rubs." Harry hastened to get out, guessing that this was what the Italian was hinting at and before either he or Draco could inquire for the reasons or insist, he rushed on. "It's not something a warm bath couldn't do equally as well. And anyway, I'm more tired than anything. And hungry."

But Blaise didn't draw back, still leaning over him and staring into his green eyes as if he could see right through them and into his soul. 'Is he a legilimens?' Harry wondered but then abandoned that theory as soon as it had taken shape in his head. If it were true, he would already have known about the letter he had written to Hermione and Ron.

Oh, shit. Harry felt once again as if he had flown into one of these warm air currents that made his stomach do flip-flops, though right now not in a good way. The letter. He had almost forgotten that thrice damned spawn of his thoughtless impulsiveness.

He probably should tell them, but… to be honest, he was a little bit afraid of their reaction.  
His thoughts were interrupted by Draco's smooth voice. "Why don't we have a snack then and get ourselves cleaned up and afterwards, we'll see about that massage."

With the memory of his hopefully small transgression heavy on his mind, Harry didn't object even at the mention of the back-rub he had just refused. He felt positively horrible when, while they were waiting for the House Elves to bring them their meal and then while eating, both Blaise and Draco attempted to draw him into light conversations about all kinds of things, like what he had done during the past two months or what he planned on becoming job-wise. Draco even asked about his cousin Nymphadora, whom he had never met, which startled Harry somewhat. Yet he was too distracted for small-talk and didn't feel able at all to come up with astute or witty remarks or even remotely sophisticated answers.  
But nonetheless they didn't allow their conversation to become awkward, telling him about themselves instead when it became obvious that Harry was not feeling very talkative. It was no surprise for him that both boys had a major interest for politics, and neither that both of them did not intend to engage in them openly for at least some years. The Malfoy name was still linked to Voldemort and it would take time and effort until it commanded more than fear, until it was backed by more than wealth; and the Zabinis, while remaining neutral had now allied with the Malfoys through the engagement of both families' heirs.

"Though the magic in the mark died with its creator, and even though it is hidden beneath a glamour, it is there, and people will remember." Draco said, gesturing to his left forearm, and Harry had to admit it was true. The Malfoys were still powerful enough in the right circles to evade punishment – mainly because of the money that backed them and the knowledge that the family would most likely come to power again after some years and then remember its benefactors. But no politician could allow himself to appear too friendly right now with the fallen, dark families or risk losing the support of the wizarding community.

Not very good prerequisites for political careers. Instead Draco considered following into Severus' footsteps and becoming a potions master, though magical theory fascinated him enough to maybe become a charms inventor. Blaise rather felt drawn to the Unspeakables, he admitted to Harry. All the silence and mysteries…

"And you, Harry? No idea at all?" Blaise asked, gently coaxing. They had asked before but Harry had evaded the question and they had told him of their plans instead. Of course, Harry knew that it would be only polite to reciprocate, but…

"I don't know." He said, picking at the rest of his meal: fillet of beef (since he had been declared well-rested enough from his magical exhaustion that his stomach wouldn't protest) with a nearly black coloured gravy made of boiled down and spiced balsamic vinegar and an ensemble of fried vegetables.  
"I mean since the not-quite-real professor Moody said I'd be a good Auror, I wanted to become just that and I picked my courses just to be able to follow that path. But I'm not so sure anymore. And I'm not so sure if he was right. He was a mad imposter after all and wanted to get me killed." He attempted a weak smile but neither Blaise nor Draco returned it.  
"I've done enough fighting for this wizarding world. You know, I never fought for them, I just fought to keep my friends save, because if Voldemort had won, Hermione would have been dead, and Ron, and all my muggleborn friends. And Luna and Neville. And what would have happened to Hagrid?"

With a sigh Harry laid down his fork. "But there is so much wrong with our society, and I'm sick of fighting for a sick world."

"If you mean the slander during school, Harry," Draco said, unusually subdued and not meeting his eyes, "you should know that much of that came from me."

"Oh, Draco, no. I mean yes, but no." Harry blinked, maybe he should order his thoughts before speaking. "Well, I mean I know that many of the rumours came from you, but damn it, so many of the wizards were stupid enough to listen to the prattling of a fourteen year old teenager! No offence." He added as an afterthought. "But your lies were just so obvious…"

Draco grinned crookedly. "None taken, I was inexperienced and young. Of course, any smear campaign I started now would be much subtler and cleverer, be assured."

"You had better not do that again!"

"Oh, I wouldn't, Harry. Aside from the fact that it would be political suicide if I tried to slander you, I sort of start to like you." Draco said, from under lowered lashes.

Harry was far from impressed. "Against anyone, Draco!"

At that, Draco's gaze turned just that bit sharper and he sat up straighter. "If someone hurt a member of my family, or a close friend… or _you_, Harry, I would arrange it so that they would not be able to show their face in any respectable circle _ever_ again, maybe lose their job and depending on the severity of his crime, I would see that the one or the other curse reached its target untraceably."

"But…"

"That is how it is, how I am. I might be persuaded by the injured party to refrain from the curses, though, and find other measures of revenge."

"Harry," Blaise started gently, "this is a very common concept. The family of your best friend is pureblood. They, too, have engaged in blood feuds and…"

"But that is what I mean!" Harry exclaimed, "I don't want to defend the laws of a society where vigilantism is so common that it isn't even punished! Or where it is possible for a single family to play puppet master for the minister…" He said, with a nasty glance at Draco, leaving no doubt as to which family he meant. "… a man so powerful that he can singlehandedly decide over the fate of any wizard without anyone to stop him, without any legal means to defend oneself. Like … like throwing people into Azkaban without trial, or pardoning anyone just because he feels like it!"

Harry calmed a little bit at the shocked expressions he encountered. He had let himself be carried away for a moment, he knew it, and yet…

"In a land where the ministry can regulate what the press writes, where they … Merlin! You remember Umbridge?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. "She used a Blood Quill on me so often that the scars are going to be with me for the rest of my life. She was going to use the Cruciatus on me! You were there, Draco, you were there! You heard her confess to sending the Dementors after me, to kiss me! What a country is this where such a person is not prosecuted?" Tiredly he looked away from Draco's bowed head and Blaise's anguished face.

"I hate this." He murmured.

"I'm so sorry." Draco whispered.

"Oh Merlin, please, Draco! Stop apologizing! I don't want all our conversations to end in apologies…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry not only that I would have allowed her to do that to you, but that I wasn't even sorry then. I had never seen it used on a human being before, never felt it myself. I… I'm not above ruining my enemies in a purely materialistic sense, but that, things like that… I wouldn't do that. Not anymore, not since I know…"

Harry reached out for him, a smile on his lips that was painful to watch, and he clasped the blond's pale hand in his for a moment. It was the first contact he had initiated himself between them, a fact that at that moment only Blaise realised. "I know, Draco. And the worst is: I cannot even fault you for that vigilantism mentality. Since you cannot go to the Ministry and be sure that a complaint or report will actually be investigated, you have to counter grievances against you or your family yourself. Nowadays a wizard in England cannot be sure that a crime will be punished by those who should enforce the law. I understand that. But it is wrong! It's so wrong on so many levels… I don't want to be an Auror if this is what I'll be defending."

"Then do something against it." Blaise murmured, drawing all attention immediately towards himself. Harry, he noted a little bit amused, looked mildly horrified at the suggestion, while Draco's eyes were starting to regain their gleaming brilliance.

He continued quietly, making sure to keep eye contact with Harry, trying to portray his sincerity. "You are a war hero. _The_ war hero of the Second Wizarding War. People will listen to you, stand behind you, follow you. They will follow a powerful wizard who won't exploit his powers."

Harry grimaced. "I suck at politics, Blaise. Really I do. And I have no idea how to handle press and…"

"But I do." Draco declared and stood up, gazing down at Harry with an air of solemnity around him.  
"If you chose to go that path, be assured of my advice and funding. You need only ask for it. And I am sure together with Granger it won't be difficult to determine whether any advice I might give you will be true or not."

Harry shook his head, a little bit ruefully. "Hermione's not good at such campaigns either… I don't know, were you in Slytherin aware of her attempt to free House Elves, forcibly if necessary?"

Blaise shook his head, his eyebrows all but vanished beneath his hair; Draco gaped.  
Hmm. That probably meant no.

"Don't ask." Harry said. "She is one of the smartest people I ever met, but she has no idea how the minds of normal people work. Truly."  
Then he bit his lips, glancing up to the Slytherin. "But you know, it's okay, I don't think you would deceive me." And Harry was a little bit surprised that he actually meant that.

Something fiery flashed through Draco's expression, something very, very pleased and smug and biting his lower lip he leaned down until he was at the same level as Harry's windblown head, their faces mere inches apart. "I would kiss you for that, mon doux rossignol, if I thought you'd welcome it."

For a moment a totally crazed part of Harry wanted to ask 'who said I wouldn't?', but he managed to stop himself in time. Honestly, what was he thinking? Or not thinking …

"And if you weren't so sweaty… " Draco added with a grin as he straightened himself. "think about it, Harry. Now: why don't we all have a bath or a shower?"

His eyes flitted towards his fiancé and there must have been some form of silent communication between them, because Blaise gave a curt nod before standing himself and pulling Harry to his feet. "I'll accompany you to your rooms."

Harry didn't quite know what he was supposed to think of this new development. He a politician? Merlin…  
A little bit dazed, and still horrified at the very notion of 'going that path', he nodded at Draco, whose face lit with a brilliant smile; then he watched him stride away, leaving an emotional jumble in his wake.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I hope you liked the chapter and that the length somewhat made up for the long wait. The next is going to be up much sooner…

And: thank you R and MorriannaLeFaye for asking after me and thinking of me and this story! I hate that I can't reply to you, R. So much that I am going to reply to anonymous reviews in the Forum on AFF, I hope the moderators there won't mind. Link's on my profile.


	16. A Conversation Between Malfoys

**CHAPTER 16: A Conversation Between Malfoys**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you very much, all of you, for being so understanding and for your commiseration. My mother is better now, though she's still fighting with the after effects and will be for some time and my grandmother is now in rehab. Cida is fine right now but my parents decided to not have her examined further as it wouldn't change anything in her treatment. It maddens me to not know whether she's going to die in the next months or not.

Anyway, apropos parents. My father now discovered Harry Potter and keeps calling me a 'muggle' and when I annoy him he points at me and says 'crucio'. Honestly… is there a certain point where the parent-child relationship reverses?

Well, in any case I hope you'll enjoy the chapter…

* * *

Quickly, Draco left the rooftop garden, one hand clenched at his side so hard that his knuckles were white and almost hurting from the strain.

Harry was starting to trust him. The boy who had refused his friendship seven long years ago, who had fought with him constantly, whom he, Draco, had almost hexed with the strongest torture curse in existence, who had almost killed him by slicing him open but in the end had saved his life on another occasion … well, at least no one could say that their relationship had ever been anything but intense. But who cared? Harry was starting to trust him!

It was all he could do not to go back to his fiancé and their colibri and throw him down to properly kiss him senseless with just as much intensity… Harry, not Blaise. Well, Blaise maybe, too.

…

Sweet Morgaine, but now his obsession with the raven haired, green eyed Gryffindor seemed to have reached a totally new level!

But could anyone fault him for that? Harry was beautiful in his own way, especially with those markings and iridescent feathers, and powerful enough to stir his desire and lust to a blazing inferno. But even more than that Harry was an enigma, a paradox, neither this nor that, all at once and nothing at all. Something – pardon, someone, who shouldn't exist in Draco's world.  
He was a Gryffindor with Slytherin tendencies, suppressed but there, and ready to apply himself like a Hufflepuff and intelligent enough to be a Ravenclaw, even though he often seemed to refuse learning when he didn't see a practical utility, which probably related to a gryffindorish/hufflepuffish Ravenclaw. He was the heir of a pureblood family who was a halfblood and a muggleborn by upbringing. He knew nothing about what it really meant to be what he was and yet, he instinctively understood certain concepts that were the foundation of old wizarding families and the world Harry would now live in, willingly or not. Even the age old principle of vengeance and family honour and loyalty. He didn't like them, but in the end he would understand and learn to accept what he couldn't change while changing whatever he could…  
And if Harry really wanted, he could change a hell of a lot: he had a keener mind than one would expect, a firm set of morals and principles, and he possessed both the personal strength – the courage one might say – and the acuteness of mind to fight for what he believed in and emerge victorious. If Harry invested himself, he could do pretty neigh anything, at least with a good strategist at his side.

But he was tolerant and sensible enough to not enforce his will in such matters, to see the reason between traditions if they were explained to him and, Draco thought, intelligent enough to estimate the feasibility of his goals. He could become the bridge over the gaping abyss between the old wizarding families and the mudbloods- … inwardly Draco sighed. He supposed he really should stop using that term, and for Harry's sake he would… Well then, Harry had the potential to become the bridge between _muggleborns_ and purebloods, with his links towards those who betrayed the age-old traditions, those who had none and those venerable families that upheld the old values and would now be forced to re-evaluate their view on the Chosen One, the newest member of the Vykélari community.

They had to, because the wizarding world in England was changing, those of lesser blood and a notable disregard for the traditions that had made their society what it was today, were gaining power and the purebloods would need to adapt or be pushed from the stage to the stands.  
Viewed in this light he should maybe search for another term to call bloodtraitors: maybe they had just anticipated these changes decades before the traditionalists, which then would be a truly commendable example of forethought, instead of the atrocious betrayal of pureblood values that his father had always declared it as. Although Draco doubted that something else than pure love for all things muggle had turned Harry's Weasleys from the 'path of virtue'.

Whatever.

It was of no importance whether Harry decided to devote himself to politics; if he did, Draco was sure that the Gryffindor would do what needed to be done and if he decided to enjoy a more private life… well, the purebloods would survive and Harry would still be an enigma. A riddle that Draco badly wanted to solve, whether it would take his whole life to do so or merely years. He was prepared to become his friend and he would, whatever else might happen. He'd be damned before he allowed the Gryffindor to push him and Blaise out of his life once again. But he wanted to be more than a friend or confidant. He wanted Harry to be with him and Blaise, for the Gryffindor to trust them and only them (even though Draco knew how truly inflated that wish was), to search them out for comfort and help, to stand by them in turn and become part of a triad like there had never been before.  
And by the temptress Morgaine, he wished for Harry to give himself over, to lie beneath him, wanton and moaning, writhing, _crumbling_, wanted that supple body quivering from his touch alone and those expressive eyes to shine up at him, entranced by the wings he'd spread over them like a canopy of white feathers, and yet with that burning defiance that screamed that there was no one Harry Potter would yield to completely. As it should be.

Even the still sober part of him that screamed _'damn those instincts'_ could not erase that vision from his mind. Neither the one where – and Draco had to lick over his lips to moisten them – he looked down his naked torso to see those ripe lips wrapped around a certain part of his anatomy while he buried his hands in jade- and spring-green feathers and black tresses, cradling and caressing the other teen's head, glowing face, his soft cheeks, drowning in the astonishing green of his eyes before they fluttered close from the intensity of the moment. And all the while he'd watch Blaise pound into the submissive from behind, the dark strong fingers digging into Harry's slender hips, and only with much reluctance the Italian would relinquish his hold to reach down and fondle the younger teen, like he had done with Draco so often before, to help their nightingale reach that supernova, that explosion of overwrought nerve endings, causing the sweet thing to moan and whimper against Draco's flesh…

Draco had to close his eyes at the vision he had conjured up in front of his mind's eye and suppress a moan himself. He didn't bother berating himself for the lack of self-restraint, it was probably the fault of Harry's beautiful feathers and markings anyway that caused him to have such daydreams in the middle of a corridor in his fiancé's home (a Malfoy like himself really should have more self-control and usually, he had); it was maybe just a bit morally reprehensible that they were not about his fiancé per se, but Draco deemed it sufficient that Blaise had featured in them, in any case, he really couldn't find it in himself to worry over that trivia.  
Nonetheless, Draco determinedly forced the images from his mind and told himself to focus: none of this would or could ever happen, if he didn't find a way to set some boundaries to the mating bond. He couldn't be emotionally and mentally naked in front of Harry, he just couldn't.

He needed answers. Right now before he allowed himself to get any closer to Harry. At this point they still could back out, and become friends instead of lovers, because nothing had happened yet; but should they go any further they would pass the point of no return. After that it would become awkward between them at least for their rather inexperienced Gryffindor should they change their mind and decide not to mate. They had, after all, no friendship to fall back to and whatever happened between them, there was no doubt that Harry would take it quite seriously, he certainly didn't strike Draco as someone for whom something like casual love existed. Which was alright, because neither Draco nor Blaise had a different opinion, despite of what the rumour mill in Hogwarts might think. All the more important for Draco to quickly make up his mind. And for that he would need more information, information that Adler would hopefully be able to give him.

But first, he really needed a shower. A cold one. A _very_ cold one.

* * *

Not even fifteen minutes later, after a shower that was equally as short as it was cold, Draco strode out of his and Blaise's rooms, leaving his still wet hair to dry freely on its own, the silken strands crying heavy tears onto his blue shirt and painting dark spots on the fine fabric. He could have dried them magically, but that always left the texture so strawy, as if the spell bereft the hair of more than just water.  
It certainly was a breach of the carefully concocted ritual of getting dressed and ready, that usually only varied with different occasions. But right now Draco needed to speak with his ancestor more than he needed to look his best.

So, despite his somewhat rushed appearance, Draco purposefully and determinedly strode through the wide hallways of his fiancé's home that were so much warmer and homely than Malfoy Manor could ever be, until finally he came to stand in front of a narrow, inconspicuous door. It was held in the same artfully painted swirls of oranges, terracotta and gold that covered the rest of the corridor and it would have been almost invisible if one didn't know that it was there in the first place.

It was a room that wasn't intended to be found, just like Adler had wished to have for himself.

At that, Draco shook his head, amused in an exasperated sort of way: even when having been dead for three centuries already, Malfoys always got what they wanted. Embarrassingly, that had only ceased to be the case in his and his father's generation. And that certainly made dealing with his confident, successful ancestor that more difficult.

Taking a deep breath, Draco straightened his posture and entered the room that the house elves had tailored exactly to Adler's wishes. It was a round chamber in the middle of the Manor that had no real windows whatsoever, though wide magical windows covered the whole circle of the room with the one narrow door as the only exception. They were enchanted to show the respective parts of the scenery surrounding the Manor, granting a panoramic view of the sea, the coastline and the mountains far in the north-east.  
The parlour, if it could be called that any longer, had been emptied out completely and was bare now aside from a single, thick, massive wooden pillar that stood in the centre, showing an artfully stylized tree that dominated the otherwise not very large room. It was round except for a metre high, cubic part in the middle, of which each side was occupied by one painting, each showing a different room that probably had been part of some baroque Italian villa: facing the door was a huge, two-storey library, where an elaborate fresco occupied the entirety of the domed ceiling overlooking the curved balconies of the first floor and the richly ornamented worktables on the ground floor. Sunlight flooded the hall through tall windows situated in between the many shelves, bathing it in a surreal golden hue. Next to that painting, Draco knew, he would see a study and a trophy hall. The latter was in his opinion a rather indelicate hotchpotch of magical creatures that bordered on the grotesque. One of Blaise's ancestors had been a professional hunter and his eternally preserved victims, including a Harpy, an Echidna (a man-eating half-snake) and a Teumessian fox littered the room without any conceivable order. The fox at least, Draco was sure, had been a protected species even then; wizards had even spelled the few remaining individuals so that no muggle hunter could catch them.  
Useless to say: that ancestor had not been a Vykélari, their kind didn't care much for such a mortuary cult. Draco rather suspected that this specific painting's presence in Adler's room had something to do with how the deceased Malfoy had treated him when they had first talked through the mirror connection after Harry's transformation. Blaise could be unbelievable protective and vindictive at times…

In any case, the young Malfoy heir gave those three paintings little attention; aside from the fact that his relative was not in them, they held little importance for him. Quickly he rounded the pillar and came to stand in front of the for him well-known portrait of Adler Malfoy, the last of the four paintings and by far the most sombre of them all: dark, small-framed wooden panels faced the walls of the study that had once been Adler Malfoy's. The owner himself currently leaned against a massive desk behind which stood a throne-like arm chair that looked uncomfortable and stiff, made from dark, richly ornamented wood and shiny, well-kept leather padding. All in all, the darkness of the picture's furniture - which, Draco held the sad knowledge, wasn't at all exaggerated - drew even more attention to the one spot of brightness: the pale-haired, pale-skinned inhabitant, who acknowledged his visitor with a small inclination of his head and a soft "Good afternoon, Draco."

"Adler." Draco inclined his head in turn but with a certain stiffness to the movement and never breaking eye-contact. Respect and mistrust in equal shares. Adler was certainly someone to be admired, but not someone to be trusted unconditionally, not to Draco's knowledge in any case. Few were capable of holding his interest for long, even less held his affection. And those who did, were probably most often not even conscious of that little trivia.  
It made dealing with his ancestor quite a precarious endeavour. One never knew if Adler was in the mind of helping or not. And Draco himself was not sure if this time he would get actually useful advice or only slashes from that sharp tongue. Fortunately he wouldn't need the elder Malfoy's advice, only information. But even that was sometimes hard to get as well, if Adler was not inclined to be helpful.

Well, he'd see.

"Two visits in one day." Adler remarked, his gaze resting on the youth standing before him, poised and tall. "To what do I owe that pleasure?" He asked as his opening move, pleasantly as ever.

"A question, Adler. Just a question… Or perhaps more than one." Draco said with a sharp smile while he took out his wand and conjured a chair for himself; one that did look much more comfortable than the one behind Adler's desk.  
Ever so slowly, Draco sat down, smoothing out non-existing wrinkles in his clothes as he did so and watched his counterpart taking his seat behind the desk. "It concerns something we spoke about this morning."

"Feel free to elaborate whenever you are ready." Adler said with an elegant hand-wave and the hint of a smile when Draco had fallen silent for some moments, pondering over how to address the morning's happenings.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow, showing more composure this time as he decided not to react to his ancestor's teasing. He was starting to think that maybe, this was Adler's shrewd kind of humour, or his way of testing him, and that their cooperative work might be more productive if he ignored his biting remarks. At least it could prove to be a worthwhile experiment, he thought with a semi-detached scientific interest, as he fixed the portrait with a nondescript gaze.

"Your husband seems to have reached Harry." He said, tilting his head mildly. "How he did it I do not know, and I don't want to appear distrusting or ungrateful, but if you could find out for me what incentive he used to sway our Nightingale, I'd be much obliged. That, is the first matter I came here for."

The way that Adler leaned back, resting his weight with one elbow on the leather padded armrest so he could comfortably brace his chin, had Draco immediately sit up, and he watched with flagrant suspicion as the long-haired man hid his lips with one hand, the thumb under his chin and the forefinger against the septum of his nose. Especially when the elder Malfoy took a deep breath, Draco _knew_ something was wrong.

"I already know, Draco," he said, his voice tinted with a graveness that Draco didn't like, but after a moment of silence, the propped up hand fell away and Adler smiled at him, a polite, but faked smile. "I spoke with Ives while you were occupied with young Mr. Potter… How well your Nightingale did on his beautiful wings; he certainly is a talented flyer."

Draco nodded his affirmation, not letting his ancestor pass from view. "That he is. But let us not digress: we were talking about _both_ of the submissives."

"Of course." Adler conceded. "We shall speak about it after attending to the other concerns that brought you to me."

_'Or in other words,'_ Draco thought, _'the matter is too serious for us to be able to discuss anything else of importance afterwards. How reassuring.'_  
"If you prefer."

But he did scrutinize the near perfect mask of calmness, showing his suspiciousness by doing so, before he returned to the matter that had lead him to seek out his ancestor's portrait to begin with, and which now might turn out to be the less grave topic discussed today. "Well, although Harry was certainly much more accommodating and complaisant after his time with your husband - though I must say you should maybe talk to him about the way he speaks of our family - Harry had…"

"Did you never think the same?" Adler interrupted, making Draco halt and narrow his pale eyes.

Draco didn't ask what his ancestor was talking about. It was clear to him that the other man was referring to Ives' opinion of what had become of the Malfoy name. And of course Draco knew that the little anecdotes that the submissives had shared over breakfast were all too true and that there were neither excuses or explanations that would make the stories any less atrocious. But one didn't speak of the black pages in the family history – which every family had. Shameful secrets should remain just that: secrets. It had been wrong of Ives to use them to entertain Harry. Was Adler so besotted with his red-haired submissive that he would take his side no matter what? Besides: he hadn't come to Adler for another lesson in humility over their family.  
"I don't think that is of any importance right now." He said, the fingers of his right hand rubbing against another as if they missed the feeling of his hawthorn wand. "Ives should be mindful of what he says to whom. This is his family, also."

"Yes," His opponent granted amiably, "but he cares not for names, he never did, and you should understand that about Harry, too, for I believe he is similar to Ives in that regard: if he comes to like you, or Blaise, he will like _you_, not your family. He will care for _your_ reputation, not your family's. They believe in individuals, Draco. Try to change that and you will destroy an essential part of his being."

"The family's reputation _is_ my reputation!" Draco murmured, his voice deceptively calm.

"It doesn't have to be." Adler countered quietly. "Why do you think no one ever identified me with my father?"

That was true; Draco actually had to think some moments before he could remember the name: Rhisiart Malfoy. He had died early, if his memory served right, leaving his only child and heir to become head of the family at the tender age of 17. Adler had not even been guided through his transformation by his father, as was tradition for dominant Vykélari.

"Because he died so early?" He answered only half-jestingly, tilting his head and watching with interest as one of Adler's hands closed tensely around the armrest, even though his voice was still quiet as he continued.

"Make no mistake, Rhisiart was long enough alive to establish the reputation of a stern, irascible, though cunning man. A great wizard, some said, who in the eyes of others was obsessed with power, dark magic, and sadistic games. He was not nearly as intelligent as he made himself out to be, and not as powerful, but otherwise his reputation was quite true. But I made sure to detach myself from that image as soon as he was killed. And in time, over my accomplishments, he became forgotten."

"A wonderful anecdote, Adler." Draco drawled, secretly storing away how important it seemed for Adler to have surpassed his father. For further reference, one never knew when it might come in handy. "But my situation is rather different from yours: I still have a family and I still care for them enough to have consideration for their wishes and expectations… And their reputation. So while I understand your protectiveness of Ives, I'd appreciate it if he recognized some boundaries. I don't want him to poison Harry's mind further against my family. God knows there is enough animosity already."

"But do you think it is undeserved?"

"Does it matter?" Draco spat, a little bit aggressively in his own protectiveness of his parents and ancestors. Of course it was deserved. But he had not come here for another reminder on his family's faults, this morning had already been enough in that regard, thank you very much. There were more important matters to attend to anyway, such as the invasive nature of the connection they had shared today. Furthermore, despite anything that Adler said or believed: family came first, Draco would have to stand behind them regardless of their crimes and mistakes. Of course he didn't expect Harry to become close to his mother, and much less his father, but maybe both parties could be persuaded to at least ignore each other. In any case he would deal with the problem once it became acute.

"For Harry it will." Adler answered, obviously unimpressed by his young descendant's mindset.  
"Your father tried to kill him more than once. Behind whom will you stand when they will inevitably clash? Will you ask Harry to tolerate Lucius' silent smirks and smug looks or will you tell your father to change his ways and his views or keep them to himself if he can't? If my memory serves me well, you were not too keen on openly standing up to him in the past."  
The painted Malfoy leaned forward, his mercilessly blunt speech and piercing eyes boring into Draco, but now his tone changed, the words seemed to drip slowly from his lips, a deadly trap like resin for an insect. "Can your Gryffindor accept the presence of a murderer, a torturer over a polite conversation and a cup of tea? Do you want him to be able to? Will you force him to?"

Silently, Draco averted his gaze, the answer, the only possible answer, clear in his mind. Of course he wouldn't. Fate had already forced Harry to kill and Draco didn't want to force him to become even colder, even harder than that. It wouldn't be fair on him. But now, Draco himself felt as if the whole weight of what his father had done during the last two wars and in between them rested unfairly on his shoulders suddenly instead of on the perpetrators. And wasn't that true? Lucius Malfoy would escape punishment, prison, wriggle out of the sordid affair like a slippery eel; and his conscience was none the worse for it, had been silenced long ago, leaving the current head of the family even unable to understand that what he had done was wrong.  
And Draco had to pick up the shambles, had to balance on the thin line between loyalty and his own believes, his own visions of carrying a name that was not only a charade of power, influence and prestige.

But while Blaise was prepared to support him and play his part, he knew he couldn't expect the same of Harry. Even though the Gryffindor had assured him that Draco's deeds during the war were forgiven, the same did not necessarily hold true for his father…. Who had urged Draco to identify and reveal Harry Potter so he could be given to the Dark Lord and be tortured and killed. Who had hunted him through the Department of Mysteries where Black had died, someone the young submissive had cared for deeply if Severus was to be believed. Who had watched Harry being tortured and had laughed through it all.

Draco closed his eyes.

The list didn't end. God, even before the war, there had been the incident in their second year; Draco knew his father had been somehow involved in the petrifactions of those students that had ended with Harry landing in the healing wing once more… was there a year in which Harry hadn't ended up in the healing wing some way or the other?

That aside, even if Lucius had not been directly involved, at least he had known exactly what was going on.

No, no one had the right to demand of Harry to just forget and forgive all that had happened between their families, least of all Draco and Lucius, not even to ignore the past. The noble Gryffindor that he was had already helped his mother and him during their trials and given him back his wand; he had spared Draco's life by returning for him and right into the fiendfyre even with all their black history.  
Draco didn't _want_ to ask for more.

"I will think about it," he sighed, more troubled than ever.

"Good." Adler gave him a rare, approving smile. "Now, I believe you were speaking about what happened after our submissives talked."

Nodding slowly, Draco tried to steer his thoughts away from the looming conflict between his father and his submissive, which was harder than it should be. "Well, Harry…"  
... had told them about his problems with Draco's family, but he had not really listened, had not taken the Gryffindor serious enough. Again. A transgression he would have to make sure not to repeat.

"He was afraid." Draco said at last after some more moments of silence. "His first transformation must have been … traumatic at best. So, to alleviate his apprehensions, Blaise proposed to establish a temporary connection. Which I blame you for, by the way. You shouldn't have encouraged him so much this morning." He looked up in time to see Adler hide a smirk and glared at him shortly, but he wasn't really in the mood any more to play games.

"To make it short: we assimilated both physically and mentally: heartbeat, breathing, feeling..." with an indefinite hand-wave he concluded "we shared each sensation."

Only the miniscule narrowing of the deep, blue eyes hinted at the astonishment the elder Malfoy undoubtedly felt at those news. Strangely enough, that lifted Draco's spirits somewhat again and he managed to edge the dark shadow of his father aside for now.  
"I take it, this diverges from the norm?" The question came surprisingly easily over his lips, considering how apprehensive Draco had been. Was this maybe just an irregularity that would diminish or maybe even vanish in time?

Instead of an answer, though, he only got a counter question, insistently asked. "Did the bond remain after you broke physical contact?"

Leaning back, Draco considered his ancestor critically. Adler seemed urgent: the way he stressed his words and had leaned forwards over his desk, boring intense eyes into Draco's head … it was alarming.  
"Only for some lingering moments." He murmured, more interested in his opponents expression and reaction than in the words he himself spoke.

"And were you able to communicate telepathically?"

"We could feel each other's emotions but … no, no articulate thoughts, at least not on my part."

Seemingly relieved, Adler relaxed back against the backrest of his chair - as much as that was possible. "Well, at least you haven't bonded, then."

"Bonded?!" Draco exclaimed, shocked. Had they really almost…

"Well, yes. Obviously this was much more intense than a mere temporary magical connection. It should only have allowed you to feel a vague echo of sensations and let you share only those that you concentrated explicitly on to begin with. Maybe it was because of the life debts between you… or the rather … intense relationship you had even before the war."

Draco shook his head, doubts forming in his mind over that theory. "Blaise felt it, too. And he never interacted much with Harry before now."

"But Blaise has a rather deep connection to you. Well, it could have only been the simple fact that you helped him through the transition and his magic knows and trusts you more." A firm edge had crept into his voice, freezing it over like a still lake in winter. "I wouldn't know since Ives ran away from home prior to his 222nd moon and was lead through his first transformation by his godfather in secrecy and not by me like it was originally planned. In any case I would be careful from now on. You don't want to become mated by accident, do you?"

"No." Draco answered not quickly or firmly enough to be absolutely convincing… and to be honest, it didn't actually matter much to him. After all, in the end what mattered was the result. But Harry would probably be devastated. And Blaise was a romantic, Draco didn't think that he'd want the mating to begin in such a way either.  
That aside … "So this is how a bond is like, then? We would be so closely connected that we'd share the same heartbeat and our emotions?"

The unease he felt at those words must have shown on his face, because Adler once more evaded a direct answer to probe deeper instead.  
"What is it you are asking, Draco?"

Averting his gaze once more, Draco wondered if he really wanted to answer that question completely truthfully. Here was someone who had done everything this side of the legal to become mated to Ives Prewett; obviously he would not be able to get an unbiased opinion.  
But so far, Adler had proven to be surprisingly helpful and had not really ridiculed him once. He had been relatively forthcoming with information, at least when asked directly, and though Draco secretly thought that the elder Malfoy had incited them to rush into establishing the temporary bond, it had been their own (or rather Blaise's) decision in the end. And he needed those information…

"I found myself manipulated by their emotions and I must admit, that though the experience itself was not unpleasant, the thought of being influenced in such a way is quite disconcerting to me. So I wish to know if it is possible to … disable … those aspects of the bond."

For some moments only the sound of Adler's fingertips tapping softly onto the wooden end of his armrest could be heard, and Draco looked up again, poised and with a mostly neutral expression firmly fixed on his handsome face.  
Adler looked back at him with an expression that one might read a newspaper with, one of concentration and mild interest, while he sucked up all the information he could get.

It might have been disconcerting, being looked at like this, had Draco not been perfectly sure that there was not much to be read from his countenance and bearings. He had been taught by a spy, a Black and a Malfoy, after all. A formidable threesome.

"Yes, it is possible." Adler said at last, the corner of his lips twitching into an unwilling smile. "It rather is like the physical transformation: the first time everything will be established once and then it can be retracted and brought forth again at will."

"That is good to hear." Draco said calmly, inwardly relieved and pleased beyond measure, almost as if someone had cast a cheering charm on him. Of course, he knew that this was only one of many, yet unsolved problems he was facing and also that he could not always keep the connection closed - he even suspected that for the bond to function properly they would have to actively keep it open from time to time; but there was the _possibility_ to do it and preserve their privacy whenever they needed it and that was enough. At least it would grant him some much needed time to get used to the overwhelming closeness; at least, it was one problem deferred if not solved.

Another one to tackle.

"So," Draco said, sitting up straight and poised, a gleaming in his eyes replacing the earlier pensiveness "will you tell me now what your Ives did to garner Harry's compliance?"

Adler sighed, looking out of the side of his portrait for but a moment before turning back to his young descendant with a grave look. "I'm afraid you will not like it. I certainly didn't. But it is nothing that can't be turned to your advantage. _If_ you are judicious and remain level-headed." The portrait said with a sharp, warning glance.

A little bit displeased at the way Adler kept advising him over things that had been taught to him even before he had entered Hogwarts (granted, he had not always acted on his teachings), Draco pursed his lips, his cool eyes full of unspoken stinging hexes. "Please, Adler, spare me the lectures."

With a soft snort of amusement, the elder man inclined his head in a mock-bow to his descendant "As my young lord wishes."

Draco took a deep breath to rein in his flaring indignation. Despite needing the portrait's assistance, despite respecting the man it showed a lot and despite wishing to become just as, if not more, influential as he had been in his days, this was just a painting, the portrait of a dead man who no longer held the role of head of the Malfoy family. It was a nuisance, really, that all those portraits had been painted in the prime of the person's life, they often were unable to adapt to changed circumstances and power relations.  
Maybe it was time to seize the opportunity of being alone with his ancestor and address the matter that for him was becoming a problem.

"Indeed, Adler." He drawled, his voice and expression steely. "That is exactly what I am in regard to you, and I tire of your attitude quite frankly. I value your council and it would pain me to lose it, but as the only _living_ heir of our family, the one who will be _head_ of the family, I demand your respect in turn or I will have all your portraits delivered to a windowless safe-house with no possibility of visiting other places or any other paintings that do not hold your person." And that would include any portrait of Ives' also, leaving the two lovers separated while the ban lasted and Adler unable to commune with anyone but copies of himself. It was a harsh threat, but Draco hoped it might at least shift the so far unequal balance of power in their relationship towards himself and remind Adler of his allegiance. If the move cost him Adler's advice and Ives' support, then so be it; in contrast to his parents, Draco was not willing to endlessly pamper the portraits' ego just to keep them happy and complacent.

Long moments passed with neither Malfoy breaking their fierce eye contact, as the elder tried to assess the heir's sincerity in his threat and the younger tried to convey it with all his considerable stubbornness. Neither one spoke, and their breathing was as flat and slow and silent as possible while they fought to enforce their will.  
Finally, Adler spoke, his posture and expression unwavering. "You would really do it, wouldn't you."

"You may test me whenever you please." Draco said, his words deceptively soft. "But I'd rather you would not force me to follow through on my words. As I said: I do value your advice."

"Then you have it." Adler said, the tenseness around his eyes easing away and Draco had the odd feeling that there was some form of approval. In any case, the portrait settled back in his arm chair and folded his slender hands, as if he had been unmoved by the topic of their conversation and his descendant blackmailing him; like a businessman sifting through the different topics of a conference.

Draco meanwhile waited, his fingers drumming away impatiently on his crossed legs. It seemed that even if he would get Adler's cooperation more freely now, they still weren't past games. He sighed martyred. "So will you grant me said advice?"

"But of course." The other answered, his thoughtful eyes dancing to the side. "I believe we were talking about 'incentives', were we not? Well, it seems that Ives bought young Harry's cooperation by promising to tell him how to force you and Blaise into giving him a portkey back to London on the 31st of August."

Draco sat stock-still, disbelieve and the rotten feeling of betrayal pulsing through his mind. Ives, that Weasel-headed cur!

In little more than … Merlin! Only one and a half months, Harry would be gone, gone forever and everything they would have accomplished until then would be for nought. Worse: Harry's sudden willingness to compromise, the way he had opened himself to them, his acceptance … all of that was nothing but a clever lie so that he could in the end escape them.

It was no wonder, that Harry had seemed so approachable today, that he had yielded so easily. He was playing his part so that eventually he could flee from Blaise and Draco. By Morgaine, how could a Gryffindor sustain a charade that encompassing, acting the whole day long… if he wasn't so angry with Ives, he might have been able to admire that feat favourably with the appropriate attentiveness. Right now, though, he was ... not amused, to put it lightly.

Had Harry even meant it? That he had forgiven Draco for everything that had happened in Hogwarts and during the war? Or had that been faked, too… _fuck_!

Almost, Draco cursed out loud, anger and frustration and bitter disappointment warring in him. Had it been too much to hope for? That Harry Potter might really give his nemesis of seven years another chance? That he might come to forgive him, even like him? Trust him?  
But a tiny part of him flared, not in defence of himself, but of Harry. The Gryffindor wouldn't be so cruel, surely. Harry might not really care for them, might be angry at them or even hate them, he might feign his cooperation and acceptance of the situation, but he was not so cruel as to lie about something like this and fake understanding and forgiveness so convincingly when there was absolutely no need to.

And the way he had spoken to them, about not wanting to be an Auror, about his feelings on the ministry… he had been so open and … and he had even implied that he started trusting Draco. Surely that would have been going too far for a mere pretence, such an act was colder and crueller than their colibri, their sweet Harry, was. He wouldn't do something like that.

No, maybe he was really trying to give them a chance, for the sake of his freedom and the pleading of another submissive, a kindred spirit, so to speak. Ironically enough, due to Ives and his attempt to buy them said chance, they might have lost it now all the same. A frightening thought.

"Shit!"

And really, there was no word more fitting to describe the situation. Draco knew how much Harry valued his freedom, knew that he had felt caged. But it was better to be caged and safe than free and hunted down, or so Draco thought and therefore he and Blaise had planned to stay at Lanai Manor if Harry needed the time, get them the best tutors that money could buy instead of returning to Hogwarts, where another three or four newly fledged dominant Vykélari would be in their year, it really depended on how many had received their inheritance.  
At least none of them were Gryffindors and could lie in wait for Harry in his dorm or common room where neither Blaise nor Draco could protect him.

Draco snarled lowly, angered and frustrated. _That shouldn't have mattered_, Harry should not have met other Vykélari until he was mated to the two dominants that had guided him through his transition or until he was at least secure in his newfound powers and knowledgeable enough to be able to protect himself. After Ives' interference it would come differently now: Adler's husband had made it so that he would become Harry's infallible friend and confidant while Blaise and he would never be able to reach that level of trustworthiness in the Gryffindor's eyes. Because they had not been the ones to give him back his treasured freedom. And as he was getting to know the more intricate patterns of the personality of the submissive who had once been his enemy, Draco was also starting to understand, that he could not possibly give him a more precious gift than the one Ives had given him.

"Ives wanted him to give you a chance." Adler said quietly, interrupting his gloomy pondering. "An honest chance."

Draco snorted. "I know. But instead he established himself as the wise saint and us as the well-meaning but misguided kidnappers. Whatever we do now, it will be too late, Harry will think - and rightly so - that we were forced into action by Ives… and all the while Harry is acting a part, playing the eager and willing student, the grateful and understanding protégé… he even more or less allowed us to court him for the sake of appearances solely! He would have made a good Slytherin."  
And if his voice was somewhat bitter as he said these words, who could fault him for that?

"No, Draco. If what Ives tells me is true, then what you saw today was his real self, the one he couldn't show you before because of all the pressure you put on him by taking away his freedom and not giving him any hope of returning it to him."

"Really?" Draco snorted. "Because he was still so very uncomfortable with his transformation; what if he only did it for the sake of the promise to Ives? He should accept his inheritance when he is ready to, and not an hour earlier, Adler. And I don't want his trust or forgiveness if he forced himself to feel it just so he kept that damned covenant."

Adler shook his head slowly. "I think you should give him more credit than that. He possesses the vaunted Gryffindor bravery, so why shouldn't he face his fears? And maybe he is more compassionate than you think him to be. Honestly, I believe that Ives merely helped him overcome his anger and made him address his problems instead of sulking over them."

"A little bit more respect, please, Adler. The 'sulking boy' defeated one of the most powerful wizards of our time in a duel, even before his inheritance. I doubt your Ives would have been able to do that" Draco said sharply before he became aware of the amused smile playing around his ancestor's lips, and he averted his gaze, irritated that he had allowed himself to be played in such a way.

"In any case it will be difficult now to earn his trust, when the only atonement that really would have counted has already been offered by Ives." Draco said as he stood and turned to leave. There was nothing more to say and he found himself eager to return to Blaise and Harry, to reassure himself of Harry's sincerity, his forgiveness, and that it would still be possible to win him over. Of course he knew that this endeavour would require a considerable amount of subtleness, after all, their submissive's decision to collaborate with Ives was understandable, nothing that Draco or Blaise could fault him for and earning his trust and favour now was a delicate, intricate affair that could not be tackled upfront. That would just catch Harry's suspicion, possibly make him think that they were only forced into action by Ives, only playing an elaborate charade to trick him into mating.

"Draco!" Adler called out, passing through the painting with the study into the library to follow his descendant's retreating figure. "What will you do?"

Already at the door, Draco halted, his slender fingers dancing over the doorknob. "I'll fill you in later." He said with more confidence than he actually felt.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
I'm sorry, I planned on updating this chapter together with what is now going to be the next chapter because I seem to aggravate some of you with my stalling - the following chapter would then have been the one where the Golden Trio is reunited, now it's postponed again, because I didn't manage to complete that part. But I promise, that after the next chapter Ron and Hermione will have their talk with Harry.

So, I hope you liked the chapter and that you'll gift me with a review!


	17. Contrition, Confession, Confusion

**CHAPTER 17: Contrition, Confession, Confusion **

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**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
I had to rewrite some parts of this chapter. I'm really sorry. The truth is that during the end I was reading some original fiction that mainly influenced my writing and had Harry be so ooc that, once a reader brought my attention to it, I couldn't continue writing without changing those parts. Major changes (everything beyond some minor corrections to guarantee a nice word flow) is written in bold.

I didn't change much of the conversation going on, only the thought processes, the feelings and the level of influence the magic has on both Harry and Blaise. That influence was also meant to appear in the original chapter, but there it was so subtle and just hinted on between the lines that I'm afraid most of you missed it. I knew that Harry was behaving somewhat ooc, but it was meant as a result of the control his magic had on him, nothing more and nothing less. If anyone wants to have the original chapter, I will probably upload it to my google drive account from where you can download it. I will put the link on my profile

* * *

Out of the corner of his eyes, Blaise could still see Harry staring after Draco, even while the two of them started to walk towards the stairs that would lead them off the rooftop garden, and he saw him knead the knuckle of his left forefinger in bewilderment. Blaise was pretty sure that this feeling was once again caused by the continuous, sudden changes in Draco's behaviour. The blond was often keen to experiment and sometimes openly kept switching between behaviour patterns, testing what would benefit him the most. For the most part, Blaise himself liked that rather volatile streak, it certainly made interactions with his gyre falcon that much more interesting, but he could understand why it would leave others reeling.  
As it obviously did Harry. From the look of it, the brunet was still trying to process all that had been said and slowly, Blaise's own conscience was starting to make itself felt. He knew of Harry's past with the press, of course, who didn't? And he also knew that despite being the damned Saviour of the Wizarding World (multiple times at that), the Gryffindor Golden Boy was rather self-conscious. God, he still remembered his discomfort and clumsiness in those horrible meetings of the Slug Club… the few times Harry had been there at all.

"Harry?" He tried to get the other's attention and from the way startled forest-green eyes jumped to his own, he had been deeply in thought, indeed. "Don't let Draco's enthusiasm pressure you into anything. Or my opinion for that matter. I know that you do not like publicity much, everyone knows that. It's just: I think one should only complain about things that can and should be changed and only when willing to invest oneself to achieve those changes."

Next to him, the Gryffindor rolled his eyes, his lips curled into a self-ironic smirk. "You forget that I fought a Dark Lord. I do know the difference between wallowing in self-pity and calling attention to things that need changing and really undertaking those changes."  
Then suddenly the grin diminished as Harry turned serious again. "And you really needn't worry about me: My whole childhood and a good portion of my youth was sacrificed for 'the greater good'. This is my life now and I won't let myself be pressured into doing something I really don't want."

Unsmilingly, Blaise nodded in acknowledgement of the other's statement, that seemed so tenuous in the light of Harry's status as a submissive. He just hoped they could keep this promise that Harry had made to himself. Sometimes he still wasn't sure if the younger teenager really grasped what was happening to him. Well, that was a topic for another time.  
"Will you think about it, though?" he asked just as he waved Harry to precede him down the circular stairs.

The brunet did, but not before shrugging his indecisiveness – an action he seemed to regret immediately as his unwilling muscles tensed painfully from the small movement, and he winced slightly either at the image of becoming a ministry employee or at the pain (the latter Blaise somehow doubted, Harry sadly was too experienced with pain for something like aching muscles to affect him much).  
"Maybe." Harry said, not quite successfully hiding his grimace. "I think you are right about the thing with changing something and complaining about it and knowing the difference and it is time someone started to do something about all those problems. But me? I really can't see myself working as a ministry official."

Secretly, Blaise had to agree, he didn't think that Harry would be able to find his way through the intrigues and games played within the ministry with enough grace to be truly successful and climb the career ladder far enough to be able to change things from the inside. But still … "You don't have to become a highly ranked ministry employee or the minster himself, to influence politics. There are other ways…"  
And that was, at least for Harry, a fact: as a war hero he could influence quite a lot from outside of the ministry, simply by using the weight of his name and his public influence to put pressure onto the right places and persons.

But Harry interrupted him before he could elaborate further, his expression still twisted into that curious grimace. "In any case, it doesn't matter right now, does it? We're far away from England."

"We won't always be." Blaise said, and of course he had wanted to prod a little further but when, following that statement, Harry smiled at him with one of those small, quiet smiles that tugged at his lips seemingly against his will, he just couldn't. But damn, Blaise was growing rather fond of those accursed smiles and if getting the chance to collect more of them meant stopping to harass Harry about possibly choosing a political career, well, then he'd have to do just that. Honestly, it was just like Draco's amused eyes, laughing at him for trying to romance someone as level-headed as the Slytherin Ice Prince, even though he knew Draco loved the attention and he appreciated the thought of whatever it was Blaise did for him and so he did it nonetheless. Just for the laughter in those eyes.

"Probably not." Harry admitted, then he ducked his head and turned and together they walked down the stairs in comfortable silence and along the corridors to Harry's rooms, both pursuing their own thoughts.  
Blaise's slowly turned to his fiancé. He was quite aware of Draco's difficulty with the emotional aspects of the temporary bond they had shared and he was pretty sure that his steely eyed lover was at that moment – or would be very soon – searching out Adler and the outcome of that conversation might determine whether Draco wanted to stop their pursuit of the young submissive before it had even really begun … but Blaise himself wasn't so sure anymore if he could really give up Harry. When they had taken him to Lanai Manor he had expected the Gryffindor to make their life hell, to obstinately refuse to learn from them and instead oppose them at every upcoming opportunity, fight them tooth and nail and try to flee at least once a day. But he hadn't. Okay, it was true, he had tried to flee once, but honestly, he and Draco had no one but themselves to blame for that. Blaise knew he should have explained instead of ordering the young submissive around, Harry was rational enough that he would have understood, Blaise had realised that now; and together with what Snape had told them… Draco and he really had it coming, Harry's attempted escape.

But the Golden Gryffindor had forgiven them, had forgiven Draco, and now he accepted their teaching, and was even trying himself to make his stay pleasant for all of them. And pleasant it was, very much so. After today, Blaise rather thought he would enjoy teaching the boy, he was a quick learner and his amazement at every discovery he made was infectious.  
Aside from that Harry was easy to be around and – Blaise had never thought he might admit as much willingly … ever – quick-witted and bright enough to hold his own in a discussion against two well-bred purebloods like Draco and himself. Indeed, what he lacked in eloquence, he more than made up for with pure logic and zeal, so that despite his own opinions, Blaise found Harry's political views refreshing. The Saviour probably didn't know it, wouldn't even understand it if Blaise mentioned it, but there was no denying it nonetheless: he was inspiring. The war had left him with the flair of a leader and how he had spoken earlier … just like a damned brilliant political speaker. If he could learn to talk like this in front of hundreds of people, he could sway the emotions of the masses and make his tool of them. Not that he would ever tell Harry so. The Gryffindor would probably take it the wrong way and see it as a dark gift like his Parseltongue. Apropos … if Harry might be persuaded to speak for them?

Blaise didn't get to ask that question out loud as a low murmur from his companion tore him from his musings.

"What did you say?" He asked, watching with a raised eye-brow as Harry bit his lips and, in an almost regretful tone of voice, said "I said that he didn't like it."

Bewildered at the seemingly disjointed statement, Blaise raised a questioning eyebrow at the younger submissive. "Pardon?"

"Draco." Harry clarified. "He didn't like the temporary connection. He was angry when you proposed it."

With a sigh, Blaise brought a hand up to massage his neck. He had hoped that the other teen would not mention that little observation quite yet and he struggled for an answer that would explain Draco's reaction without giving things away that Blaise was sure his fiancé would rather keep hidden for the moment.  
"He is … Draco is a very private person, Harry." He said finally, knowing it wouldn't be enough to divert or placate the brunet when he gave him a rather sceptical look.

"Adler told us just this very morning how to establish temporary connections and Draco … he thought it too early for you and for himself and maybe it was. But I proposed it nonetheless. That's why he was angry. And it … it was just … " wonderful? Addictive? Frighteningly intense? All of that and still no description would suffice. Words often weren't accurate enough in Blaise's opinion. And really, there was no perfectly fitting adjective or paraphrase for the warmth and dizzying contentment that the three of them had experienced together. And the familiarity it had build. How should he feel about knowing Harry's emotions so intimately, more intimately probably than his two best friends and that Weasley girl? Dazzled? Not quite, but even so, he had been swept along in the tide of Harry's very private emotions and had felt the same happen to Draco. And that loss of control that had only been recognized as such in retrospect, was disconcerting. So it had been uncomfortably comfortable, wonderfully frightening, addictively familiar and dazzlingly intense.

"… it was unexpected, Harry, " Well, that was also true, at least, "for Draco more so than for me, but neither of us knew really what it would be like and … Harry, we are Snakes, not Badgers and it was a rather … intense experience to be so in the open, something that will take some getting used to."

He looked over to Harry, but the brunet kept staring ahead stubbornly and there was a curious expression on his face that Blaise didn't like much, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that bothered him. He was unaware of the spark of irritation growing inside Harry: Finally, finally he had found something worthwhile in this whole mating-business, and it was the one thing that the two dominants were uncomfortable with. How fucked up was that?

"I … you know, it's alright, really …" Harry started hesitantly, if a little bit strained, "just, if maybe I could stay here until the school term starts, that'd be great…"

That stopped Blaise dead in his tracks and he actually needed a moment to recover his bearings. Was that Gryffindor really saying what he thought he was? In his surprise the question fell from his lips before he managed to at least formulate it in a manner that might have, even faintly, resembled politeness. "Just what the hell are you talking about?"

Defiantly Harry cocked his head and shrugged to fake nonchalance, an act that was belied by the small, barely perceptible movement of his right hand at his side, where it had reflexively wanted to reach for his wand before remembering that it wasn't there. Now instead he folded his arms and glared up at him. "Well, obviously Draco doesn't care much for the bond, and you'll of course follow him in his decision, so if you changed your mind, I'm fine with that…"

It was all Blaise could do to not let his jaw drop at that.  
_Fine_ with them losing interest in him. Harry was _fine_ with _leaving_ them.

Blaise didn't listen further and while he himself was maybe too stunned to react, his magic was not: When he would later contemplate his reaction, Blaise wouldn't be able to define what exactly he was feeling at that very moment. He only knew that his stomach contracted uncomfortably and that his heart beat faster for some reason or the other. It wasn't anger and it wasn't nervousness or fear, or any other emotion in its pure form; no, it was a complex mixture that he couldn't decipher. But it was intense enough that his magic acted of its own accord and suddenly Blaise felt his wings strain against his skin and then, before he had the chance to do anything about it, they pressed against the thin fabric of his shirt, sending spikes of white-hot pain through his backside. It was all he could do to bring his magic into action and quickly cut the necessary slits into the fabric to relieve the throbbing, because he knew he wouldn't be able to force back his wings.  
A moment later he had cocooned Harry and himself in a mass of bronze- and copper-coloured feathers, drawing them close and closer around their bodies as a barrier against light, noises and smells. A downy curtain, that veiled them in half-darkness, illuminated only by Blaise's magic, which flickered over the silky texture like light reflections from the moving surface of red-golden water.

The effect was stunning, and Harry seemed to think so, too. He had flinched back at first, his head turning away from Blaise and his shoulders scrunching up. But as the young submissive caught sight of the wings around him, his expression and stance eased up and he leaned forward, entranced by the net of light wavering over the copper feathers. He reached out, his fingers threading through the insubstantial magic and stirring its patterns, making it curl and dance.

_'It welcomes you,'_ Blaise thought and wondered if Harry knew. He couldn't be sure: the brunet shivered for a moment and gasped slightly, but he didn't pull back again. At that moment, Blaise wasn't aware that Harry couldn't have, even if he had wanted to. The submissive's very own magic had entrapped him in a dreamlike state, purring and whispering sweetly to him to keep silent, to watch the display of power that was given just for him. It was pleasing to watch, wasn't it? Beautiful even, amazing. And god, it imbued him with an almost other-worldly feeling of elation, as if he stood above everything and everyone else in the world, if only he could stay with the Vykélari in front of him. He was desirous, strong and handsome, wasn't he, and together their magic would be unsurpassed throughout the wizarding world. That was something worth striving for, wasn't it? _Wasn't it_? He should allow his magic to reach out for him with a hand of pure energy and entice the dark skinned bronze angel to let Harry forge the link between them that no one would ever be able to break.

In that way, so much like an imperius, Harry's magic cradled his thoughts, guided them and his body and though Harry was starting to realise that something was off, that he should fight the sluggishness that had overtaken his consciousness, he was not yet able to bring himself to really shake off the effects; because this was not another wizard with unfamiliar magic trying to control him with an imperius, no, this treachery originated in his own core. Everything in him demurred at the thought of fighting his own magic, something that had always been a trusted ally, that had never betrayed him, but saved him countless times; from bullies in his childhood, up to mortal enemies in recent years. How could a wizard be expected to fight his own magic?

And all the while, Blaise was unaware of Harry's inner struggle. He only saw the submissive's palpable dazed and stunned amazement, an amazement that he shared, even if not as strongly.  
This had never happened before. Never. Blaise hadn't even known that his magic could take on a lasting visible shape like this at all. Of course he had caused it to leave his body before, as an invisible layer hovering just above his skin or as tendrils or barely visible sparks that he sent into objects or into the skin of … well, of Draco or Harry, to be honest. He hadn't done that with anyone else yet aside from the magical exchange during his own very first transformation, and he didn't want to. It was too intimate a feeling, those exchanges of magic, to share them with just anyone.

That aside, usually when he had trained, the magical embodiments were rather fickle, they couldn't persist, and instead kept dissolving if they weren't directed fast enough to where they were meant to go. These light reflections were very much stable and, dare he say it – beautiful.  
But even more beautiful he found the way it illuminated the golden skin of the younger submissive, dancing in the green eyes, so much like emeralds but so much more valuable, so that they looked like gems lying in a riverbed. Forest-green feathers had appeared in his hair, and they looked softer than ever before – a little bit like the feathers of an ostrich, only green and more iridescent – as they fluffed up in obvious contentment, ruffling the soft, thick strands of raven hair. Would Harry allow him to rake his hands through the down like feathers?

He didn't want to ask though, didn't want to break the silence and destroy the vision of Harry standing there like a wanderer watching the Northern Lights, transfixed and bewitched by the sight of such a spectacle.

A moment later though, Blaise felt a memory wash away his heady, magic-drunken elation like a tide of ice water. Bewitched. It was something he had heard before from a portray or maybe he had read about it in some tome of his own father, whom he had never known. Something the Malfoy portraits had even hinted at the first time they had spoken with them about Harry and about possible methods to make him stay at the manor: because submissives were magically stronger, because for a dominant to approach one who was well-rested with the intention of mating him was indeed very dangerous in and on itself, nature had gone out of its way to give a trump card to the magically weaker. While all Vykélari were naturally fascinated by magic - there was no denying that - an inexperienced submissive could literally be caught in a trance like state merely by being exposed to well-controlled, powerful magic. Of course he could overcome that addiction if he encountered it often enough in his life, just like a drug that one developed a resistance against. But Harry had never gotten in touch with anything remotely related to Vykélari before and so he was open and vulnerable to the not so subtle influence, more so than any other submissive who was raised amongst other Vykélari. And Blaise's magic had reacted by itself, enfolding Harry so that he would not leave, so that Blaise could reach out, close the submissive's core off, block his magic and thus make him helpless until they mated. And all that before Harry had the chance to react, too entranced with the display of magic.

Almost, Blaise would have stepped back and retracted his wings, appalled at the vision his own magic painted in front of his mind's eye, but he didn't want Harry to leave and he was sure he would if he retracted his wings. Harry would wake and would be angry and once again he would run before Blaise could explain.  
But neither did he want the brunet mindless, a slave to his magic, so instead he hastily pulled it back into his body with a conscious effort, letting it seep away into his wings like water into sand, but the feathery appendages he left where they were folded around Harry's body.

Immediately Harry swayed ever so slightly forwards, as if following the retreating magic, but then he pulled back, his expression becoming more alert but still a little bit dazed as if he had just woken from a daydream and he blinked for some moments with a forlorn expression, still staring at Blaise's wings as if he wanted to ask where the hell his private light show had gone to.

But the realisation of what had happened came too soon, and accusing green daggers bore into Blaise's eyes. The fluffy downs between Harry's black strands sharpened and hardened into shimmering, thin and long feathers, and no longer did they point in all possible directions, but neatly backwards instead, forming a crest that raised itself high above his head, similar to that of some Hawk Eagles.  
"What _the hell_ … happened?" Harry pressed out and for a moment it seemed as if he wanted to step back from the Italian, but he didn't and only a barely noticeable shiver betrayed his disquiet at being so close and obviously entrapped by the wings of someone who had just controlled him like that.

"Sorry." Blaise sighed and reached out for the other teen's hands, only to have his arm viciously slapped away.

"Don't!" Harry growled and now he did step back until his back was pressed tightly against the copper-coloured wings behind him and he glared at the Italian somewhat fiercely as if he could force him to let him go with his eyes alone.  
He was the image of distrust and righteous anger, Blaise thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach; his stance had widened, and his hands were tightly balled into fists; they were still at his sides, but ready to come up and embed themselves into Blaise's nose or stomach if he attempted to approach or touch Harry again.

Blaise sighed once more and held up his hands in a placating gesture that didn't seem to have any effect at all. "I reacted on instinct, Harry. I'm sorry."

"What the hell did you do to me?" It was barely above a whisper, half furious and half afraid and somehow, Blaise felt it was even worse than the growling accusation from before. He lowered his head deeply and turned it to the side so that Harry would be able to see and reach his neck.  
It was a deeply submissive gesture, one that Harry should be able to instinctively recognize and of course as such nothing that normally would be tolerated in a pureblood society. Instincts were meant to be controlled, not flaunted. As a matter of fact it was only because Vykélari traits were usually so subtle and inconspicuous, their instincts normally easy to contain and not noticeable at all, and because all transformations were purely magical and not physical and lasting like those of Veela, Vampires, Werewolves and other halfbloods, that made Vykélari so accepted in the wizarding world. That and the level of magical power and the fact that most pureblood families had at least a few Vykélari in their lineage.

But even if it caused a huge scandal if it was seen – which it wouldn't – the gesture might calm Harry enough to listen to him, at least Blaise hoped it would.  
"When you spoke about leaving, my magic… I couldn't keep my wings away. I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't know you would react that way."

**His efforts were in vain, though, as Harry was in no way ready to see the sincerity behind it, anger and more importantly fear clouding his judgement. Even the first time when the Moody imposter had imperiused him, Harry had been able to somewhat fight against the mind-control. But this... this would leave him helpless and meek and pliable, fresh modelling clay for the dominant to form himself the perfect, obedient submissive; he might be unable to defend himself or refuse any of his controller's orders an instead cheer him on in utter bliss all the way into absolute mind slavery.  
He couldn't bear the thought of being put under a spell that could destroy him like that and he snarled and shoved against Blaise's left wing but it wouldn't budge. "You hexed me! Let me go!" **

Immediately, Blaise drew his wings closer around the both of them, his head whipping around. "I did _not_ hex you! It was your own magic, Harry! I swear…"

**But the Gryffindor was having none of it, he just wanted to get a safe distance away from the mind control he had just experienced.** And god, all that after he had honestly tried giving them a chance at Ives' request as best as he could; and now they threw his trust into the dirt and stomped right over it. He felt betrayed. God, but he should have known that something like this would happen. Conniving, lying, scheming Slytherin bastards.

He threw a punch at Blaise's left wing but he didn't want to really hurt the other young man and therefore he didn't put as much force behind it as he could have. Still it was enough to make the Italian yelp and quickly he drew his wings closer, effectively immobilizing Harry so that he found his arms pressed tightly against his sides and a wall of feathers uncomfortably close to his face. "Damn it, let me go already, Blaise! Leave me the hell alone!" He growled and snarled and spat, trying to turn towards his captor, but he couldn't: the devil had wormed his arms around Harry's chest and held onto him like a screw clamp.

"Not until you let me explain!" Blaise growled back. It hadn't been his fault, both Harry and he had reacted on instinct. Mordred, he himself was almost as ignorant as Harry was when it came to mating; it wasn't as if he had thought he or any other dominant Vykélari would ever need that knowledge again, after all. No, they were all stumbling through this whole mess like bumbling fools and they needed to be a little bit more accommodating towards each other if they wanted to survive the following weeks with their sanity intact. And he needed to make Harry understand. Now.

"Let me explain!" He repeated urgently, but Harry only growled at him.  
"So you have another chance at controlling me? No, thanks, asshole!" And the Gryffindor continued to struggle and squirm within Blaise's tight embrace.

"I don't want to control you."

"Sure!" Harry mocked and finally managed to stomp on one of his captor's feet with all his not inconsiderable strength. Blaise jumped away, gasping from the sudden pain in his bruised limb and Harry used his chance to slip through the small gap that had opened between the wings with a cry of triumph. He sped away towards his rooms, intent on barricading himself in there and forcing Ives to bloody well tell him how to get away. But he didn't get far. After only a few steps Blaise was on him, whirling him around and all but slamming him against the wall, pinning him down on the hard surface.

"I do _not_ want to control you!" He snarled, his breath coming in hard pants, ruffling the silken strands falling into Harry's flushed face. The brunet didn't look at him, kept struggling weakly as if only out of stubbornness and anger.

Oddly, his voice didn't match the enraged expression on his handsome face and the feathers in his hair had flattened against his skull, for the first time taming the chaotic black strands into an almost orderly something that one could call a decent hairstyle.

It didn't suit Harry at all.

"As if I'd believe you." He pressed out and slumped down into Blaise's grip in resignation, sounding so … depressed and frustrated, and Blaise couldn't help but wonder if the Gryffindor was truly coping as well as he had seemed to. How unbearable it must be to be the celebrated Saviour of the wizarding world, someone to whom people were looking to for guidance; to finally have reached a mediocre level of peace and safety after years of being chased by lunatics and self-proclaimed dark lords, just to have that all taken away in one fear-ridden, pain-filled night and then be told that he would be chased again, expected to bow and mate to whomever got to him first. And now he was not even able to defend himself, if the dominants had the ability to control him like this.

"I don't want to" Blaise murmured with a gentler voice, leaning forward to place a kiss on Harry's forehead, causing the feather-crowned head to whip up so quickly that it missed his nose by millimetres only.

"Stop that!" Harry growled and Blaise was oddly glad that there was some real offence in that exclamation. Better than that frustrated, hopeless resignation, and it made complying to Harry's wish so much easier, he thought as he gave an acknowledging nod.

At the same time he reached out with his magic, let it tingle from his skin to Harry's where their arms touched. Wary green eyes closed in on Blaise, half expecting more magic to show and try to control him again.  
"Feel if I'm lying, Harry." He said and waited. He had enough of Harry doubting them and this was the only way he could think of, to make the gryphon believe and trust them.

* * *

**Harry was still unsettled, and he felt disturbingly trapped in the tight hold the other Vykélari had on him. And he was wary … and the way his skin still tingled from the magic that had been all around him didn't make it any better. Now that it was gone, the impact it had had on him left him shaken to the core.** It had played and rippled over the Italian's skin like the reflections of water, as if it wanted him to believe that its source, Blaise's inner core, was just as deep and wide and resourceful as an ocean. And he hadn't been able to think. Indeed when Blaise had taken away the distracting swirls of gold and copper and red, it was like awaking from a wonderful dream that he was desperately trying to hold on to. He would have gone with whatever had happened around him, he knew, just like a dreamer never questioning his dreamscape. **And that was more than just troubling, it was frightening.**

Warily he looked down to the pale sparks vanishing into his skin, unable to keep himself from wondering whether they were somehow moulding his emotions again. He didn't think so, but still... Harry just didn't know if he wanted to come into close contact with that magic again.

**And yet, if it was true and Blaise hadn't done it deliberately, Harry had no right to resent him for it; just as people had had no right to hate or mistrust Harry for speaking Parsel, when he hadn't even known that he was doing it most of the time. He had wished again and again that people would give him the chance to explain instead of just assuming his guilt and now, now he was doing the same thing. The worst was that Harry knew he had had no proof of Blaise's guilt before accusing him. Now Blaise was offering him to establish a bond and that even though Harry knew he had found it somewhat disconcerting, less so than Draco, true, but still the Italian had been uncomfortable. And despite his doubts about Blaise's claim to not have known what had been happening, Harry didn't question that discomfort. During their connection, he had felt Draco's and Blaise's emotions so clearly, so keenly and those should be well-nigh impossible to fake.**

**Nonetheless establishing the connection once again would mean another mingling of magic, another close contact with those tempting streams of pure energy that had the power to control him like no wizard had managed to do before. All of Harry's usually less than reliable instincts of self-preservation were for once vetoing in determined unity. Only his thrice damned sense of justice insisted on throwing caution to the wind. Again.**

"You want me to establish … _a connection_ … like before?" Harry asked hesitantly, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood and he half expected the Italian to recoil at the idea**, or maybe he hoped he would**, but Blaise didn't. That black mamba only smiled at him, nodded again and finally relinquished his hold on Harry's arms to grasp his hands instead.

Involuntarily Harry's gaze flickered to their linked hands; Blaise's skin felt warm and smooth against his own, not calloused by brooms and months in the wild like his own were and the magic flowing into Harry's body where they touched tingled a little bit but also soothed his frazzled nerves and tense muscles. **He remembered those touches from St. Mungo's, how nice they had felt, how he had calmed and instinctively known that he was safe. Had that been a natural reaction, just the way you would calm if a friend squeezed your shoulder comfortingly, or had it been his own magic or Blaise's tampering with his mind? He didn't know, but if it was the latter ... Harry couldn't accept it. Even if it didn't cause him to lose himself in feelings that were not his own, it would be a weakness he couldn't afford, might cause him to overlook important details in a potentially precarious situation or react too late to a threat.**

**Forcefully Harry pushed that line of thinking to the background of his mind. It was unfair on Blaise and on top of that it was unproductive and futile, not in the least because anything he might do in order to tackle those problems depended mainly on whether the dominants in whose charge he currently was, were playing with him or not. In any case he had no right to derive Blaise of the chance to prove his sincerity. But he would keep a close eye on his emotion at all times, just to be sure that the Italian he had barely ever spoken to aside from the last three days, didn't just want to establish a subtle control over his mind.**

**At least with Blaise grasping his hands instead of his upper arms, Harry didn't feel that trapped any longer, even though he didn't like both of his hands being incapacitated. Not that he would have been in a better position even with both of his hands free, having no wand. Harry shook his head and sighed before he muttered an** "Okay" and focused on the little sparks of magic that were entering his body. Then he loosened the grip on his own magic. It was easier than the last time, for sure, and as soon as the swirls and streams were allowed to run free, they followed the gentle gradient of energy like a starved bloodhound following a fresh track.

Just like before, the awareness of Blaise's presence slammed into him like sudden sunlight after hours spent in darkness, but it wasn't as intense, as all-encompassing as it had been together with Draco. Harry was aware of the physical presence of the other young man, of his magic, but it didn't overwhelm him, the sensations didn't quite merge and didn't synchronize with his own. Blaise's heartbeat, his breath, the feelings were a mere echo, not irritating or disturbing at all; **and Harry could sense the boundaries between them, could strictly separate their emotions and their very beings and that helped to ground him again, made him feel - maybe deceptively - as if he was in control of the bond and its machinations. Still the question remained why it was different than before, when Draco had been with them. Silently he posed the question, looking up into Blaise's dark, dark eyes, but he could feel him pondering over the very same thing without being able to come up with a plausible answer.** He didn't need the murmured "No idea" to know that both of them were equally clueless.

"But you can feel my emotions just fine, yes?" Blaise leaned forward, his eyes intense and piercing, holding Harry's own. Slowly, Harry nodded.

"Good, then listen:" Blaise said as clearly as possible and brought up a hand to cup younger man's face. "I don't want to control you!"

**Harry allowed the touch while he watched the other man with narrowed eyes, listened for a lie in that deep baritone, watching for a flicker in those almost black, almond orbs. But there was none and with the sincerity echoing through Harry's body, he had to admit that in all likelihood the Italian was speaking the truth.  
A thumb caressed his cheek softly; just another level of closeness during their temporary connection, and Blaise himself tilted his head ever so slightly as if leaning into an invisible touch, feeling the echo of his own hand against Harry's skin. "I really don't." He said again and raised his fingers higher to smooth away the frown on Harry's forehead. **

All the while Harry didn't know what to feel, what to think; the caress and the subtle sensations were oddly distracting, making his stomach feel as if a snitch fluttered wildly inside of it; but this was exactly the problem, some part of him that wasn't feeling drunken on the other's heady presence in his mind, tried to remind him: **even if Blaise really didn't want to take away Harry's will and had done it by accident only, it could happen again. How could Blaise learn to suppress something that he wasn't even aware of doing?**

Suddenly he felt himself being cradled in soothing warmth and Blaise pulled him close into a loose hug, almost gently as if he was afraid the feeling might be too much if he tightened his grip any more**, might make Harry feel trapped within his embrace**. "Shhh. Both of us reacted on instinct and now that we know it can happen, we can learn to fight against it. We'll consult Adler and Ives and find a way for you to overcome that reaction, okay?"

Swallowing heavily, Harry leaned his head against Blaise's shoulder, slightly leaning into the embrace. He didn't answer, there was no need to; he knew his agreement was felt over the bond. **It was at least a halfway decent plan, a way to attack the problems piling in front of them instead of hiding from them.** He had learned to fight off the imperius curse when he had been only 14, he could learn to throw off this reaction if Blaise said it was possible at all.  
"But why did it happen?"

The arms around him tightened, a movement curiously mirrored by the presence of Blaise in his mind and body. "I was trying to keep you from leaving, colibrí, my magic was, and your magic reacted by telling you to stay close to me as a potential mate."

Merlin, his own magic! His own magic was betraying him now. God, he just wanted to go back to being a normal wizard, back to the exhaustion and emotional void after finally, finally killing Riddle...

**A moment later, more of the relaxing warmth seeped from Blaise into Harry's body like a downy blanket, following the tiny sparks that freely flowed between them; slowly, gradually taking effect, prodding, soothing and comforting oh so gently that Harry was none the wiser and he found himself tilting his head, so that his forehead pressed tightly against Blaise's neck and he closed his eyes, his unease and hesitation gradually disintegrating like mist under the warming sun. And his thoughts turned into another direction: if he thought closer about that day, it hadn't felt like a victory at all; rather, he had been so burned out afterwards.** Admittedly the last few days had been wonderful in that regard, bringing him back to life in a way he hadn't thought possible. He wanted to stay here, he loved the flying, he loved those connections. God, he even loved having the chance to fight with Draco again. It was just so _normal_ to compete and fight with him, so wonderfully normal as if there hadn't been a war… but it was even better now that it was in a friendly, teasing manner.

Gentle fingers began stroking his nape up and down, ruffling the feathers that had softened slightly and gone back to wreaking havoc in his mop of hair. He could feel how strangely glad the Italian seemed at that minor detail and the wave of protectiveness and possessiveness washing over him was **surprising and unsettling because Harry was sure that none of those he knew and cared for felt like _that_ about him, not even Ginny, brave and pragmatic Gin. But the faint surprise was sluggish and went to sleep as soon as it had started to awake, helped along by the soothing, very distracting flow of magic, Harry's and Blaise's.**

"I don't want you to leave either." The words were breathed against Harry's ear, tickling and almost succeeding in making him squirm. "I want you to stay here and let us help you."

_'But everything's just too much,'_ Harry thought, and before he knew it, words were falling from his lips, **coaxed out by the closeness and intimacy of the connection, his general exhaustion and the sluggish warmth bathing his mind and body. Here was someone who felt honest and sincere and willing to listen; Harry didn't need to go through this mess alone. And it was a strong dominant whose guidance he should accept anyway...** "It's just so damn much, you know? You are legally allowed to kidnap me and force me to mate…"

"We won't do that. I won't allow anyone to do that to you!"

"I know." Harry whispered, convinced of the truth of the fiercely spoken words from the feelings projected at him through the connection.  
"But now you can control me, too, and it's just … I'm literally at the mercy of you guys and it just … Merlin, Blaise, it sucks."

The Italian's fingers froze against Harry's nape and the brunet felt him tense, a nervous spike in his emotions. But before he could ponder it more closely or ask Blaise about it, he spoke again, hesitatingly. "You know that you are magically stronger than every dominant you'll ever come across, don't you?"

**Thoughtfully Harry rubbed his cheek against a muscular shoulder and a sinewy throat, taking in both the heady smell and the rhythmic beating of a steady pulse. It was always difficult for him to think of himself as extraordinary. He hadn't been much above average in school, Hermione was cleverer, Ron the better strategist, Neville was in his opinion at least as capable as he had been. If not for Riddle choosing him, Neville would have had to bear the burden and with how he had turned out in the end, he would have borne it just as well or bad as Harry had. Even though everyone assumed that Harry must be magically powerful, the idea hadn't gained a foothold in his own mind. Because, _everyone_ expected him to have some hidden power; it wouldn't do to have a normal wizard with no unusual talents defeat his evilness, the lord Voldemort in person. But that was just what had happened, nothing more and nothing less. Well, of course one could argue that he hadn't killed Riddle, since he had pretty much killed himself when he had tried to murder the owner of the Elder Wand with the Elder Wand itself and died from the backlash.  
Still. To have Blaise as a Slytherin admit so openly to being weaker than him was quite a surprise.**

**And it raised a few questions that his currently phlegmatic mind didn't seem to find important enough to really concentrate on.** "So, why then would I be in danger outside of the … oh, of course." Because the dominants could control his mind to some extend at least. But if he could learn to suppress that instinctual reaction, he should be fine; Then he didn't need to depend on Draco and Blaise anymore and could actually live … maybe with the two Slytherins who had helped him during and after his transformation, maybe not. The important thing was that he'd have the choice.

Until then, it wasn't exactly bad to be where he was, cradled by magic and strong arms that shouldn't feel as good as they actually did.

**Cradled by magic.**

**Something stirred inside him, knew that he should find that wrong, but the thought was too unsteady, Harry couldn't keep a hold on it and it was as soon forgotten as it had appeared, chased away by Blaise's soothing murmur.**

"Harry, just let us keep you safe. At least until you've learned more and can control your magic better. I want you here with me and Draco and together we'll figure everything out. Just give us a little room for mistakes, too. We don't know that much about submissives." He chuckled, the sound and sensations a nice distraction in Harry's own body. "I never thought I would actually meet one."

**Harry nodded, a little bit ashamed at his tantrum earlier, especially now that it had proven unjustified; Blaise had posed no threat to him after all, the idea alone was laughable. Merlin, the very scent of him exuded safety. No, he shouldn't have accused him, he should have trusted him and he should have reigned in his temper; just as he shouldn't have accused Dumbledore and demolished his office following Sirius' death, should have trusted him to know best instead. Harry really should learn to keep his temper in check.**

A sudden flash of concern permeated through their still active connection as Blaise caught up on his darkening mood and tried to guess what had caused it. Was Harry still nervous about his safety after knowing what a dominant could do to him if he wasn't careful? Blaise couldn't fault him for that, if it was the case. With firm movements he rubbed over Harry's back, trying to ease away the tenseness in his sore muscles and the gloominess he was sending off in rippling waves. "Don't worry, no one knows that you are here, you're absolutely safe."

**And here went Harry's conscience again, his mind clearing somewhat, throwing itself into ifs and buts with vigour.** They couldn't be sure about no one knowing of him being at Zabini Manor, now could they? And all because of Harry. The owl might have been intercepted and someone besides Ron and Hermione might have learnt of his whereabouts. And the worst was: he might not only have endangered himself, but Blaise and Draco as well. Would they be able to really defend the manor when someone tried to get in by all means necessary?

For a moment unaware just how open his feelings were at the moment, Harry yelped in surprise as Blaise pushed him away enough to catch his wrists in a tight grip, staring intently at him. Dangerous, he seemed now, like a predator. It was even more intimidating as Harry could feel a foreboding iciness overcoming the Italian's emotions and he could no longer really say what went on in that doubtlessly cunning mind, clouded with the rising occlumency shields as it was. **But the urgency in Blaise's voice at least let Harry's magic draw back from its effort to mediate between the dominant and its owner, as slowly and gently and unobtrusively as it had appeared, but not before sparking a last thought; and the ominous aura surrounding the dark-skinned young man was enough to distract Harry from the way his mind cleared, leaving him only with the sureness that he should be telling his host of something that might prove to be a danger to them all. And privately, every conscious part of him, too, knew that it was high time to let the two dominants know of his hopefully little transgression so that they could prepare. Therefore he didn't hesitate to answer, when Blaise demanded to know what was wrong, rather than requiring it, his voice ringing with a steely wintriness, that didn't sit well with harry at all. **

"Yesterday," he started, trying to encounter the heavy stare as calmly as he could, "I wrote a letter to my friends and told them where I am…"

"You did _what_?! How?"

At the threatening growl, Harry hurried to explain and justify himself. He didn't want to fight again, especially not with the connection still in place that had soothed and comforted him so much. "I ordered one of the elves to send it. You yourself made it possible by telling them to treat me like a Zabini, so don't you punish them for it." He said, defensive of his actions and that little female elf that he had tricked. It wasn't the House Elf's fault.  
"You were such a bastard…" He started in a way of explanation.

"Do you ever stop to _think_?!" Blaise grabbed and shook his shoulders once and as he lost his calm, a flood of emotions splashed over Harry, hushing him with their overwhelming intensity. Anger, concern, protectiveness. Above all protectiveness.  
**All the while it was only the subtle influence of Harry's magic answering to Blaise's closeness that held the submissive still, even though some parts of Harry's consciousness started to strain against that, the instincts he had developed during the war too strong to be completely overruled by his wayward magic.**

"Don't you care at all about what happens to you? God, that gryffindorish stupidity, always courting danger!"

"I don't…" Harry started to protest, taken aback a little bit that the Italian's face was just so cold and freaking emotionless while obviously, he was everything but. It reminded him of how he had lain on the ground, tied up and honestly nervous as hell while the dark skinned dominant had loomed over him, telling him off for trying to escape via the floo connection. It made him uncomfortably aware of the three or four inches that Blaise had on him and of how he could control him by just showing off his magic surging over the surface of his wings. He felt threatened and it caused the magical control to snap.

"Did you ever think about what might happen if someone were to intercept the owl?"

"If you hadn't been such an asshole I wouldn't have done it!" Harry argued back, still trying to make sense of the very contradictory indications on Blaise's mood that the Italian's expression and body language and the sensations from the connection gave him **and determine whether or not he should try to disarm him now that he still had the chance. The dark skinned man looked like a prowling panther, ready to pounce but ... there was still only the anger and fear and protectiveness and concern to be felt over the bond and Harry didn't think Blaise would attack him. Ever. It reassured him enough to not hold himself back after the unfortunate comment the Italian made next.**

"First that completely insane thing with the floo and now this!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry still thought that his flight attempt was the one justified action he had undertaken after all Draco and Blaise had said and done that afternoon and it had him seething instantly.  
"All your fault for taking me prisoner…" he snarled, his voice rising.

"We didn't…"

"… and humiliating me, telling me to lie back and think of England!"

"We told you from the start that we'd never…"

"And your stupid rules! Making me a prisoner while pretending to be oh so generous and lenient!"

"WE ONLY TRIED TO PROTECT YOU!"

Silence reigned, so oppressively that Harry thought he could hear his own heartbeat. Over the connection he could feel Blaise being just as surprised as he was with the loss of control the usually so solemn Slytherin had shown. And the tenseness.

And was he nervous?

"You could have been seriously hurt, Harry. And I was just so angry that you seemed so nonchalant about it, that you had done it without even thinking of the consequences … I won't allow you to endanger yourself like that!" He pressed out with all the determination of someone used to getting his will.

At that, Harry found himself speechless and he had to bite his lower lip and turn away. In his life there had been only a handful of people so protective of him, and all of them had been or still were very dear to him. Molly, for example, or Sirius. Most had always known that Harry was literally fated (or should he say prophesized) to get into precarious situations, to have to fight and kill and they hadn't stood in his way, and some like Hermione and Ron had helped him wherever they could. But only few had been actually trying to spare him all that, as laughable as it seemed to challenge fate.  
**Well, at least it explained why Blaise had seemed so afraid in his bout of protectiveness, if he feared for Harry...**  
"But that doesn't give you the right to treat me like you have." He said finally, calmer now but irritated and insistent nonetheless. "You could have simply explained; we are no longer 15, for God's sake! And I'm not sorry for writing the letter, though I regret if it'll put you or Draco in jeopardy."

"But not you." Blaise said and Harry felt a sharp pang of regret pulsing through the temporary bond before Blaise broke away, his wings shrinking back into his shoulders. Harry watched him warily, unsure if he should feel relieved or not that they were two strictly separate beings once more. It had been a confusing experience and intense, even if not as intense as it had been the first time; but it had also been … rather illuminating.

******But god! Had he really _snuggled up_ to Blaise? Damn it… this was so … so … not right! Definitely not right! It was a sign that Blaise's and his own magic had again meddled with his thoughts and emotions, had made him more pliable and amenable than he normally would have been. Merlin, this was worse than he had initially thought... this time he hadn't even noticed when exactly he had woken up, and he had spoken and acted during it all, had said things that were in his thoughts, somewhere deeply buried in his mind but which he would never have voiced out loud. And Blaise ... Blaise hadn't been aware that something was wrong or Harry would have felt it.**

**Oh god... he desperately needed to find out how to recognize the influence of magic. Fervently he started replaying the last few minutes in his mind, flushing at the humiliating things he had done and said. Damn, he should postpone doing this once he was alone... or should he?**

**Quickly he glanced towards the other young man, but Blaise seemed to be blissfully unaware of Harry's renewed distress, fiddling with something on his right wrist with nimble fingers and Harry decided that he'd rather find out more on his own and order his thoughts before he addressed the matter with Blaise and Draco. After all it was mainly his problem, the two dominants seemed to be blissfully unaffected by Harry's magic. Except ...**

**Whenever they were close to Harry they seemed to _need_ to touch him in some way or the other, fleeting little gestures that he would never have expected from Blaise or Draco. It almost didn't seem in character for the two Slytherins who didn't feel comfortable sharing their emotions with Harry, who had learned Occlumency, who had seemed so regal and haughty at first when he had come to the manor, aloof almost, certainly arrogant. Two days since then and their behaviour had changed drastically.**  
**If their thoughts were subtly guided by their own magic like Harry's were... then their current behaviour was ... still not false since the magic only seemed to only work with ideas and thoughts that were already there in some way or the other, only causing certain lines of thought to be suppressed while others stood out more clearly. **

**It was guiding them together, steering their attention away from sensitive topics or behaviour patterns that might endanger a mating between them. **

**"Oh my god." Harry whispered. He looked to Blaise again, caught the traitorous shimmering of a disillusionment charm right above Blaise's hand, but felt unable to tear his thoughts away from his realisation. Not even when after a moment and quiet click a delicate, thin bracelet dangled from the Italian's finger, no longer invisible. They were screwed, equally and all of them.**

**He only forced himself to pay attention when Blaise began to speak, in an urgent, hurried manner. "This, Harry, is an emergency portkey." He said and took one of Harry's hands. Harry shook his head. "I hate portkeys..." but the Italian ignored him.**

"It is unregistered, so don't tell anyone you have it." He continued instead as he fastened the silver chain around the maybe somewhat scrawny wrist with sure, quick movements, where it immediately became transparent and almost invisible against the tanned skin. It still felt warm, but it was nothing against the burning feeling of Blaise's fingertips.**Did Blaise feel the same? Was magic a universal language that affected them all in the very same manner? Was the lust and the desire he had seen in both Draco's and Blaise's eyes real or was it only their magic telling them they should find a _supposedly_ submissive Vykélari desirous? Did he desire them in turn or only their magic or was that all his magic? So many questions and he couldn't even find an answer to one of them.**

"It will stay invisible for as long as you wear it. I don't want you to ever take it off until this whole matter is resolved and you may keep it afterwards if you wish to. If anything happens, it will take you to a secret safe house in England. As soon as you get there, my mother, I and Draco will know and one of us will come. Promise me, you'll use it if something happens!"

"I … but …" Startled and a little bit worried, Harry frowned up at the Italian. Did Blaise really think that the letter posed such a threat?

"Promise me!" He urged and Harry startled a bit before he turned his gaze downwards again, letting his fingers wander over the smooth rings of the invisible chain hesitatingly, a shiver running down his spine. But this was Blaise's emergency portkey, what if something _did_ happen, how would the Slytherin get away? Harry would never run from danger and leave anyone behind, anyone. Even obnoxious, oddly protective and totally confusing Slytherins **that _Harry's magic_ found utterly gorgeous**. "What about you?"

The question earned him a smile that bordered on tenderness and another brush against his cheek with adept fingers. "I can take care of myself, don't worry."

"And I can't?" Harry exclaimed indignantly, but he rolled his eyes and fell silent at Blaise's piercing look. It was oddly sweet that an I'm-all-for-self-preservation-Slytherin was forsaking his own safety for his, even if he had been the one fighting a war and not the one watching from the sidelines. **Or it would be if Harry didn't have the suspicion that it was Blaise's magic urging him to protect his potential mate. But no, that wasn't true, not if it worked like Harry's own, only enforcing notions and impulses that were already there. Blaise really seemed to want to protect him. What an odd - and oddly warming - thought.**

"Now swear you'll use it and stay within the safe house until either Draco, I, or my mother come and get you."

"Fine" Harry finally nodded with a resigned sigh. "How do I activate it?"

"By voice. It's 3-0-5, my birthday: the 30th of May. It will only work if the bearer says the numbers separately and without any word in between. But if you are ever attacked, it will activate automatically the moment you are in a live-threatening condition and then put you under a stasis spell until help arrives."

"Wow." Harry wasn't really sure if he should be impressed or appalled. "And you've been wearing it constantly? That's … paranoid, isn't it?"

Blaise didn't answer for a long moment, avoiding Harry's gaze as he touched the invisible bracelet with one finger, stroking over the chain. "I ordered them during the last months of the war … after I learned that Draco had failed his task. I wanted to give him one so he could flee if things got even worse, but I couldn't get the bracelets into the school unnoticed and I couldn't contact him outside of it, with … everyone who was in Malfoy manor."

Awkwardly, Harry looked down to where Blaise played with the invisible bracelet around his wrist, fervently wishing he'd know what to say. Hell, if he knew what to feel, that would be a start. It was as if these bracelets were something intimate, something between Draco and Blaise; a promise of some sort, of safety and loyalty and trust. And ... and love. And now he'd been given one of them, not as a loan but actually as a gift to keep. **Even if Blaise's magic might have initiated it, the Italian wouldn't have given up something he obviously treasured if Harry meant nothing to him.**

"I … thank you."

And just as if he'd not been rattled enough, Blaise suddenly leaned forward and, taking Harry's bent head between his hands, he pressed his lips against the Gryffindor's brow, warm, soft and absolutely shocking. Harry froze as an aura of magical power accompanied the dominant like the soft perfume of flowers. Heavy and sweet like lilies, beautiful, white lilies. **This time Harry felt the dizzying warmth that seemed to seep into his very soul but he hesitated a moment too long to break the contact with the handsome Italian because of the gift he had just received, that demanded he give something back, yield something in turn; Harry just didn't know if this was the kind of yielding that was required. Indecisive for a moment, he brought up his hands, probably to gently press the other Vykélari away, but once his fingers folded around the dark skinned wrists, all he could do was hold tightly onto them, the very notion of moving away alien and incomprehensible. God, if he had just a moment more to _think_.  
But then his head was tilted upwards and Blaise's face was so close that Harry had to lick over his suddenly dry lips. The magic around him changed, sizzling in the air full of potency and electrifying excitement and diving back into him like daggers, bringing with it the taste of power. A hand glided from the side of his face, stroking through his hair and finally cupping the back of his head, while Harry felt his heart beat louder and louder, though he honestly wasn't sure if the blood rushed out of his head or in. All Harry knew was that Blaise was going to kiss him.** He was actually going to use those soft, full lips and kiss him! The first man to ever do that to Harry and should he be disturbed? Harry was sure he should at least be _something_…  
Doing something. Moving away probably; but there were insistent fingers rubbing against his neck and the back of his head, running through his hair sensuously and black, blown eyes stared at him so damn intently until Harry couldn't look any longer and closed his own.  
But not before there were lips on his, hot and sweet and soft. Those lips! Sliding against his own, nipping, teasing and oh … fuck! Harry almost jerked as a tongue licked over his lips and a thumb stroke over his cheek and he just had to open his mouth, didn't he? With that insistent tongue gently forcing its way in, tasting sweet and a little bit sour like the balsamic sauce they had had with their lunch. But underneath that was something else that Harry had no name for, especially not when that agile muscle invaded his mouth like it did now, flicking against his own. A flutter in his chest and stomach transformed into impossible heat that travelled down to his groin, tingled through his whole body.

And his magic, happy that it was being indulged and that someone else with the ability to let the magical currents dance around them was so close, shot out, twirling around the two of them, interweaving with Blaise's own. And just like that, every feeling seemed to intensify even further and Blaise's touch felt like fire, but so good as it seared his skin! And he had made the Italian moan! The sound reverberated through every cell of his body.

The hand caressing his cheek wandered down over Harry's shoulder, along his side so softly it made Harry shiver from the contrast to the insistent lips moving so passionately against his own, and then they sneaked around his hip to grab his … wait a minute!

Immediately Harry opened his eyes wide in shock to look at the closed lids of Blaise's and when he found his hands curiously pressed against firm pectorals, stroking and kneading... well, doing something he really shouldn't have been doing, Harry used the position to shove the Slytherin off of him with all his might, hard enough to make him stumble backwards against the far wall of the corridor.

Surprised black eyes met his own.

"Don't you do that!" Harry snarled, his voice trembling faintly from the lingering, intense pleasure, and a little bit higher than it should be. God, Merlin and whoever else, that had been … just … so … rather … and then … god, oh god. He shouldn't have been doing that, he shouldn't have been enjoying it! **Not when it brought forth their magic and made them behave like starving vampires intent on sucking on each other's skin and lips and _magic_!** And now he felt so shamefully uncomfortable in his too tight trousers, possibly harder than he had ever been before, and oh, please, don't let him see it… **god, why the hell did Blaise have to kiss him? And after he knew that he could control Harry... he almost groaned as an idea struck him: what if that had been Blaise's magic urging him to act on his desire - if those were his feelings at all. The Italian was probably as helpless as he was.**

**"But…"**

**"No buts! Kiss me again and I'll castrate you!" Harry muttered darkly but without much conviction, trying to calm his still pounding heartbeat and ignore the tingling residue of overwhelming pleasure echoing through him.**  
**"God, Blaise! You're not even thinking clearly!"**

**With a sigh, the Italian raised one hand in a placating gesture, his eyes still dark and his lips bruised and damn it, he really was gorgeous. "Listen Harry, I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to..."**

**Frustrated with himself, Harry wiped heavy strands of unruly, black hair out of his eyes. "Just stay away until we have our fucking magic under control, Blaise, I mean it!"**

**For a moment Harry thought he had successfully made his point but then a mischievous glint entered those black onyx eyes and a tiny smirk tucked at Blaise's lips and Harry immediately knew that all the damned Slytherin had heard was Harry giving him free reign once they had their magic under control.**

**"Asshole!" Harry muttered beneath his breath, turned and strode away, afraid of what he might be doing if he stayed for a moment longer. Or what Blaise might be doing...**

* * *

******CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Birdlike behaviour in this chapter: Turning away the head is for some birds like the parrot a placating gesture. The bird literally turns away its weapon, the beak, and shows the unprotected neck to sooth the attacker. For most kinds the instinctive response is an attack inhibition, so the conflict is averted before it becomes violent. A pair of birds would afterwards cement their relationship by feeding each other or indulging in pair preening.

PS: kudos to everyone who manages to say "contrition, confession, confusion" ten times without it becoming jabbering!

PPS: I probably won't answer every review. I'm sorry, I'm just so busy right now, exams coming up soon and everything…


	18. A Fan's Crusade

**CHAPTER 18: A Fan's Crusade**

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**CHAPTER NOTES:**

**CHANGES IN CHAPTER 17:** I changed some parts of the last chapter, mainly at the end, because honestly, Harry was quite terribly ooc. Though most of you were too nice to call my attention to the problem (but please tell me when I do things like that, sometimes I don't notice it myself), it gutted my Night Flight muses and left them in a rather messy, bloody heap after I came out of my after-exam-trance.  
It's just: I have no illusions about being unable to be influenced by advertisements, movies, books and most importantly other fictional slash stories I'm currently exposing myself to. And the last chapter was mainly influenced by Twisted Hilarity's original stories. I found them very enjoyable to read, honestly you should try them, but it caused Harry to become ... well, quite a wimp. There's no nice word for that, so don't try.

So instead of abandoning this story - for which nelle on AFF threatened to castrate me and I didn't even have the chance yet to give some unlucky child the curse of my horribly long real name - I decided to rewrite parts of chapter 17 - which took more time than writing an entirely new chapter for some reason... If anyone wants to have the original one back, sorry, that won't happen but I will probably upload it to google drive and put the link in my profile.

**MORE FANART:** RighteousHate drew a picture of Harry, I put the Link on my profile. Please have a look and leave a comment for her, the colors of the wings interweave so very beautifully and are exactly how I imagined them. The same goes for the wings of Blaise and Draco which are seen at the edge of the picture.  
**Another Vykélari story:** I had an idea for a story with Vykélari where Harry's inheritance would be at the beginning of 6th year at Hogwarts. Please join me for a discussion, the link is, again, on my profile.

* * *

Pansy was in a right snit. And she had every right to be, in her humble opinion. Nothing in her life during the last few years had worked out the way it should have. First Draco had had the audacity to fall in love with their school's pretty boy and asked her to cover up for him so that neither Blaise's nor his parent's would learn of their affair. Of course she'd said yes, what else should a well-mannered, noble-minded girl of a respectable pureblood family have done if a friend asked for her help? Especially since she loved the two idiots. Very grudgingly, mind you, obstinate bastards that they were. Merlin, and without her, they would have just managed to make away with themselves somehow, or throw their cover, or destroy their twisted joy in life in some way or the other. Somehow, she just knew it; they were reckless and narrow-minded like that. Nonetheless she wouldn't have been averse of becoming the next Mrs. Malfoy, or Zabini for that matter.

Well, it wasn't that bad, Pansy guessed, she'd just find herself someone else. Preferably rich, mute and short-lived.

But that wasn't really her problem, right now. If she pondered on the matter more closely, it might have even been somewhat odd to really marry one of them, they were friends first and foremost, after all. Well, of course there was the one time when she had been with Draco after Blaise had dumped him because the Malfoys had decided to stand behind their Lord, united, after his return. The Italian had been so furious at Draco for endangering himself because he knew it couldn't end well, what with the Dark Lord probably still being angry on Lucius for claiming to have been imperiused during the First War. Blaise had expected the resurrected wizard to take his anger out on his less than loyal followers with cruel punishments and asked Draco to join him and declare himself neutral.  
Draco had refused, hadn't left his family and after a shouting match of epic dimensions (well, Draco had shouted at least, Blaise had glared and growled, that didn't mean it had been any less impressive) the Italian had decided that someone neutral couldn't be with a proclaimed follower of the Dark Lord. In an act of defiance and stubbornness Draco had started dating Pansy just to make his ex-lover jealous. And Blaise had ignored it. Because they were dickheads like that.

Pansy had known it, and enjoyed the attention and Draco's gifts while she could. And his kisses. Which had been acceptable.

...

Okay, fine, pretty damn good... But it was to be expected, after all: Pansy was gorgeous and a formidable kisser and Draco looked well enough and wasn't completely useless in the kissing department, either.

And so, when her two stubborn friends had gotten back together, colliding like two magnets that pulled each other close and continued just where they had left off without a thought to Pansy, only her pride had been hurt. But only momentarily (she had not held any delusions about Draco's or Blaise's love for each other), so really, that wasn't her problem right now.

Neither was the fact that her reputation had suffered somewhat due to her well-considered suggestion that it might be better, in a purely utilitarian sense, to throw the Wonder-Boy out to the wolves when the castle had been besieged. It had been the logical thing to do and really she couldn't understand why it had made everyone so angry. And damn it, it wasn't as if Draco hadn't tried to give the boy over, Gregory had told her that, the only difference was that she had done it in front of the whole student body and who-knows-who-else in the Great Hall. It hadn't been a very Slytherin thing to do, she had to admit that and so she bore the consequences now with the grace and humility befitting someone of her station.  
Well, or something close to that. But though it was a problem and annoying as hell, she could deal with the public's aggravation at behalf of their saviour. After all, people were rather forgetful with the right incentives and if she played her part right, no one would speak about it in a year.

And she could deal with the Dark Lord having lost the war. Even though some things might have been better if he hadn't. But really, the last year in Hogwarts had been so ... messy! And depressing. Everywhere she had looked there were students playing martyrs, which was plain right stupid when they just could have spared themselves the pain, played along and waited for the right time to strike. That would have been the intelligent thing to do, the Slytherin thing to do. Alas! The majority of Hogwarts consisted of moronic not-snakes. Pansy hated martyrs with a fervour, almost as much as she hated lunatics and some of the new teachers had been undeniably lunatic. She even thought Headmaster Snape had disliked them and _he_ was a paragon of a Slytherin, truly. A double-agent for years! One had to admire his self-control and resolve...  
So really, reconciling herself to the demise of the Dark Lord wasn't that hard at all.

She could also deal with giving up one of her two-way mirrors that was connected to Zabini Manor in Italy, as Blaise had asked her to do. It wasn't as if she would die of withdrawal if she couldn't speak with Draco and Blaise for a few weeks - it wasn't as if they were her only friends - and after all, she could always go to Narcissa, for some tea, a nice chat and then use the Malfoys' mirror instead. No problem. At all.  
Even though it peeved her endlessly while the two love-birds had been on their romantic little trip during which Blaise had proposed to Draco, and doubtlessly shagged him silly multiple times a day. Or the other way round. Really, her peers were usually just so _boring_...

What she couldn't deal with, however, was giving her mirror to the infuriating horde of red-haired weasels! And that was exactly what she would do. Because Blaise had asked her. Nicely.

She sighed, very much martyred, though she would never admit to that. The things one did for friendship...

Nonetheless... "I hate you!" she grumbled to the small mirror in her hands, glaring at Blaise's and Draco's faces, which were smirking at her with unconcealed amusement. Both were small figures in the reflecting surface - because they were not walking towards a multi-storey shed of a house that shouldn't have been standing there in a show of defiance against gravity and the laws of nature. No, they were sitting on comfortable arm chairs in front of an enlarged mirror, the bastards. Behind them she could see a wide window through which the sun mocked her with the warm light while heavy rainclouds spread endlessly over Pansy. It made her hate the very world.

"Oh, please, Pansy!" Draco said through his grin. "This doesn't become more believable the more often you say it, you know? Only more ridiculous."

"But I really hate you for making me go to those blood traitors!"

Even as small as they were in the mirror, Pansy thought that Blaise was rolling his eyes. "You could have declined."

Draco nodded "But I am glad you didn't, we are very grateful for your help."  
He said with his most charming smile and his interruption was the only thing that saved his bloody fiancé from getting ripped apart by a real good tongue lashing. After all she really needed to improve her reputation and if people somehow heard about how Pansy Parkinson had assisted the Saviour and his friends in their oh so difficult situation, then all the better.

"Absolutely!" Blaise continued, "We owe you!"

"We'll make up for it, once we return. Take you shopping..."  
Ha! If Draco thought that would be enough to reward her for playing nice with those Weasleys...

"...and to that little French restaurant you love so much..."  
Well, the reservations were difficult to get, she had to grant Blaise that, still...

"...and a visit to the opera after that? Or ballet? Whichever you prefer."

"Fine!" She sniffed and started walking again. "I'll be nice to them."

"Thank you, Pansy." Blaise said, sounding so damn sincere that Pansy had to purse her lips and try to forcibly hang on to her anger. In vain.  
"Well," she sighed, again very much like a martyr, "as long as you know how much it costs me... anything for you dear. Just make sure the two of you secure your submissive soon and come back, I am bored out of my mind without you here. You surely take your sweet time with that, anyway. I never heard of a dominant taking so long to mate after the abduction of a submissive.

"Pansy. He is not just a submissive."

"Oh, I know!" She laughed coquettishly even while her gaze rested sharply on Draco. Pansy knew him well enough to know that this comment was more than a testimonial to his usual obsession with the Gryffindor paragon.  
"He is the _Boy Who Lived_! Does that matter, though? He'll still be a submissive in the hands of two dominants. And you really should hurry... shouldn't he have his magic back by now? You know he'll become dangerous then and so much more difficult to control. You have blocked it, haven't you?"

The heavy silence was answer enough. Pansy blinked in surprise, torn between dismay at her friends' stupidity and amusement. What in Merlin's name were they thinking? "Don't tell me you let Potter of all people walk around with that much magic at his disposal after having kidnapped him?! Oh, this is rich!"

"Pansy!" Draco said with a frosty glare. "It is none of your concern how we treat our submissive!"

With a snort, Pansy shook her head. "So at least you still want to claim him..."

"It is up to a submissive to establish a mating bond, Pansy," Blaise said quietly, "and Harry would never do that if we took his magic."

Draco nodded even while he looked aside, looking awfully pensive. "You have no idea how he reacted to it being inaccessible during the transformation. He can't bear the thought of losing his magic and we won't do that to him."

"You are smitten!" Pansy breathed, even while it came to her mind that the words might actually be too plebeian for a miracle like this. Or a disaster. It probably depended on one's perspective.

"I am not." Draco's voice was cold and his eyes murderous, and Pansy couldn't help but wish she would stand directly in front of him. He was always so difficult to read, but with him appearing so small in the two-way-mirror, it was well-nigh impossible and she would rather like to know if another comment of hers might have dire consequences.

"Think, Pansy," Blaise interrupted her thoughts with his low, silky murmur. "That he is the Boy Who Lived indeed changes everything. He cannot be kept away from the public's eye and in his case, no one would ignore a forced bonding. If he told his friends later that he was so much as unduly pressured into a mating with us and they went to the press or the ministry, the wizarding public would rip us and our families to pieces."

It would have sounded reasonable and Pansy might have believed the two of them if Draco hadn't slipped earlier. 'We won't do that to him' ... no, this sounded as if there was more emotion than rationality guiding their behaviour regarding the Golden Boy right now. And that might become a problem. Even dangerous.  
And the fact that they were asking Pansy to give up her mirror, when she _loved_ her collection (there was nothing better to efficiently get and spread certain information), bespoke of a certain sense of awareness for the situation: if Blaise and Draco thought that enabling Potter to speak with his friends was the logical thing to do, that it was crucial for a successful mating, and that it didn't betray emotions they shouldn't have towards the Boy Wonder, they would just have asked one of their parents to give up a mirror, Mrs Zabini was even currently living at Malfoy Manor and not even using her own mirrors...

This was worse than she had thought at first, it wasn't good if Blaise and Draco became personally invested in this whole affair. And why should they even be interested in someone else? They had each other, it had been enough before, why shouldn't it be now?

When the Italian had contacted her the day before and told her about Harry Potter's new status as a Vykélari submissive, she had assumed that they would force him to mate and then keep him on a tight leash. They weren't supposed to give him a choice. They weren't even supposed to grant him so much leeway. Narcissa and Lucius both would be furious if they knew. Amalyne, too, probably; but Pansy didn't know her that well.

And if Potter's stay at Lanai Manor didn't result in a mating, the purebloods in Britain would lose all respect for both of the dominants that had been too indecisive to exploit the windfall of a submissive practically falling into their lap.

In any case, if Potter the stupid sod managed to hurt either Blaise or Draco, if he refused them, Pansy would make him vanish into a world of pain.

To her friends, though, she only gave a conceding nod. "I just hope you know what you're doing. Now shut up, I'm almost there."

Carefully, she put the mirror into a sea-green velvet case and then stored it away into the handbag dangling from her arm. If someone other than Granger or her weasel boyfriend opened, she didn't want them to see the mirror. It was Draco's and Blaise's wish that Potter's friends got it without any time-consuming detours.  
Then she moved towards the front door of what looked as if it once had been a barn, trying to keep her outrageously expensive boots out of the various puddles in the courtyard.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Burrow had been tense during the last few days, with the memory of Harry's dramatic transformation as an ever-present shadow hanging oppressively over the dining table and the knowledge of where the young wizard was, with whom and for what reason weighting heavily on everyone's mind.

The worst was that there was nothing to be done. Even if Narcissa Malfoy had disclosed Harry's current location - which she hadn't - the fact remained that any interference of a normal wizard in what was usually euphemised as 'Vykélari courtship', was highly illegal and punished with five to ten years in Azkaban. Harry would have their heads if they got themselves landed into the wizarding prison, besides, once there, they'd be of no use to their friend.

And so far they had already depleted all the legal means, they had even gone so far as to ask the newly appointed minister Kingsley Shacklebold for help. But he had only told them to wait and stressed to them the importance of keeping their silence. It had been disillusioning to be reprimanded for coming to the minister in the first place, even though he was right: strictly speaking they hadn't been allowed to tell anyone of the situation after being filled in by the Malfoy matriarch. And since nobody - even the minister - should have any knowledge of the situation, no one could help.

That of course didn't mean that Hermione and Ron wouldn't keep on trying. The famous Golden Trio's smart one had spent the last few days and a good portion of her savings in various more or less respectable bookshops with rather disappointing results. But finally after days and nights of asking, begging, demanding and reading, so much reading, there might be the first hint of a silver lining: just this very morning an elderly ministry owl had delivered a copy of the Vykélari laws. It had been a real nightmare to get one, too and Hermione had needed Percy's help, who, in his best lecturing, know-it-all manner, had threatened the ministry employee in charge with an official complaint and legal consequences for curtailing their right of access.

She had just worked through the initial few paragraphs together with Ron under the anxious glances of a very raddled Molly, when a soft rapping at the front door interrupted their reading.

Now, for a household like the Weasleys that might not be unusual per se, but at least unexpected. Since Ottery St. Catchpole was located rather far from the major wizarding communities in Britain and most of their closest friends not even lived in the same county, and since apparating wasn't the safest means of travelling, most of their acquaintances entered their home via the floo; and official matters were usually handled via the owl post. They didn't have much to do with the Fawcetts, the Diggorys and the Lovegoods and other wizarding families living close by, not these days in any case and aunt Muriel ... she expected to _be_ visited.  
So while Hermione didn't even raise her hazel eyes from her lecture, her lips moving incessantly along with the words, Ron and Molly shared a questioning gaze over the paper covered table.

After but a moment, Molly shrugged. "Well, go on dear, I'll just see who it is..." And the sturdy witch started to bustle out of the room.

Quickly, Ron pushed himself up from his place at the paper-filled table, agilely manoeuvring around other chairs, and past his mother. "I'll go, mom. Why don't you make more tea? Earl Grey or Assam ... we're going to need loads and loads of it."  
In all honesty, Ron really just needed to get away for some minutes before he started tearing papers apart... Hermione would never forgive him for such a heinous crime, not after all the trouble she'd gone through to get her hands on them in the first place.

But if he read or heard the word 'submissive' one more time, while he inevitably had to think of Harry, he couldn't guarantee for anything. He hated how dry and austere the books and texts of law were, how pretentiously they praised the magical power and control a mated _dominant_ could achieve, how those pureblood Vykélari justified depriving half of their kind of the right to make any significant decisions for themselves with some nonsense about safety and how submissives needed to be protected because they were so precious and rare and because their magic was wilder and more difficult to control.

Well duh! Of course it was more difficult to control; their power levels were many times higher than a dominant's...

Rolling his shoulders once to ease the tense knots another sleepless night had brought with it, Ron strode out of the room to the front door and pulled it open.

Immediately he wished he hadn't when he got face to wrist with a young brunette, a beringed wrist she had obviously raised just then to knock again and that he only barely evaded.  
Ron recognized her distinct features immediately; that still somewhat pug-nosed but otherwise handsome face was impossible not to recognize; as was the grimace she wore: Pansy Parkinson's lips were curled in what probably had been meant to be a smile, but the effect, sadly, was destroyed by the disgust twitching over her face every now and then. She wore an elegantly tapered, knee-length dress of a dark grey, checked pattern with a slit necklace, the whole ensemble hugging her slender frame flatteringly. Her wand was drawn and pointed at a pair of black, high-heeled boots that she must have been cleaning from the mud in the courtyard only moments before: the leather was shiny and unblemished.  
Ron narrowed his eyes dangerously, all his warning bells doing a grand impression of a dramatic hand bell choral in his head. What the hell was that snake doing at the front door of the Burrow at a Monday morning, before even the owl from the Daily Prophet had arrived?

"Parkinson!" He said frostily, not so much a greeting as an acknowledgement of her unwelcome, unexpected presence.

Her lips strained into a pained smile as if she couldn't quite believe being where she currently was herself. Yeah, Ron couldn't either...

"Weasley." She waited for a moment, and then continued as it became apparent that the red-haired man wouldn't take the initiative, a small tightening of her lips the only indication of her irritation. "Won't you ask me to come in?"

Ron crossed his arms and stayed otherwise unmoving in the doorway, but his eyes flashed and all his muscles tensed and strained under his skin, like a hyppogryph whose annoyance build and rose, bubbling like boiling water until he'd strike down the nuisance before him.  
"No, Parkinson, certainly not. What do you want?" He asked tartly; two months just weren't enough to forget that this woman had wanted to give Harry to Voldemort just to save her own pitiful hide. It was rather audacious that she dared coming to the Burrow so soon ... or ever.

"Well," the brunette began, letting the word linger on her tongue until Ron wondered if it had paralysed the muscle, "I am actually here as a favour to your friend, Potter. You see," she continued quickly, when Ron's eyes narrowed even further, "Draco and Blaise - you know, Blaise Zabini - they approached me because Potter wanted to speak with you and..."

"Where is he?" Ron asked, stepping forward and letting the door behind him shut, he looked around quickly for a moment, as if he might be able to see his friend somewhere. Merlin, was Harry alright? Had they already mated him and therefore come back into the open? His stomach clenched tightly at the idea of them parading Harry around like some prize trophy.

"He's still with Blaise and Draco, of course. But as I was saying, they contacted me because he wanted to speak with you, so here I am, to lend you my precious two-way-mirror."

Ron looked at her sharply while Parkinson muttered something below her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'out of the goodness of my heart'.

Why the hell would they allow Harry to come into any contact with the outside world? Every book, every document he and Hermione, and at times Ginny had sifted carefully during the past few days, agreed on that one point: a dominant coming upon an unmated submissive (he really needed to find some alternative term) would hide the both of them away until the bond was safely in place, however long that took; which usually wasn't longer than a few days.

Warily Ron watched Parkinson, as she opened her handbag and pulled out a slim velvet case, that might have been the size of one of their smaller school books, his stomach twisting nervously and he had to fight the urge to just grab the thing out of Parkinson's hands. But his concern for Harry hadn't yet clouded his judgement enough to do something stupid and rash like that. He didn't even know if the brunette really was in league with Malfoy or if she had gotten wind of the incident from some other source and was just acting, fishing for information, maybe ... for another Vykélari?

Or was she her on Malfoy's behalf?  
After all, the books had also made it clear that sometimes, especially when a submissive wasn't inclined to mate, his closest family or friends were dragged into the mess as blackmail material. Ron knew he had to be careful... especially when dealing with someone sent by Zabini and Malfoy, who Harry certainly wouldn't mate willingly.

In front of him, Parkinson drew a small, rectangular mirror from the sea-green velvet case, careful to not touch the reflective surface and leave fingerprints to mar it. She turned it towards Ron, so that the red-head was able to see the golden glow of a luxurious sitting room bathed in sunlight. It was probably beautiful if one cared for all that luxury, the expensive wood and fabrics used in the furnishings... Ron still preferred his own orange Chudley-Cannons shrine-like room.

What caught his attention though, were the two men sitting on arm chairs as if they were thrones, each the other's opposite at least in their colouring, but so similar in their bearings. Still as proud as ever they regarded him coolly but also with a hint of open calculation, as if they tried to read him and Ron understood that maybe for the first time they saw him as an important token on the playboard of life: if they really intended to let him speak with Harry in order to make him more agreeable to a mating, they had to know that Ron could also influence his friend. He might sway Harry to be more open towards his captors, to stay with them willingly for the next few weeks at least; or he might abet him to even more open rebellion, might incite Harry to fight both purebloods with all his might.  
Such was the power of a best friend.

"Good morning, Weasley." Zabini spoke first, making Ron's gaze switch to his small image in the mirror. Though the youngest Weasley son hadn't had much to do with him before during their school days, he of course knew the Italian by sight and name, but nothing beyond such mundane information; which only meant that he would need to use much more flexible tactics than he would have done with the Malfoy heir alone and slowly discover the dark skinned man's weak points.

"Zabini, Malfoy." Ron nodded once, his jaw and voice tight but for now it should better be enough for those snakes if he conveyed his willingness to talk, they couldn't expect him to be polite.

With narrow eyes Ron watched Malfoy's lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. "I hope we didn't wake you or someone of your family with this early ambush on a Monday morning."

"You didn't."

"Well, isn't that wonderful!" Parkinson quipped with a fake smile, sarcasm dripping from her lips like drool from Fang's mouth.  
"Anyway, I'm off." And she scrunched up her nose a bit as she threw the Burrow a last derisive glare. "Be careful with the mirror, Weasley. I'm sure you couldn't afford to replace it if something happened. Draco, Blaise, contact me as soon as you are back."

Not even awaiting an answer, the brunette started to make her way back to the edge of the Weasley property with exaggerated care not to step into any puddles. Then, she apparated off. It somewhat surprised Ron that she would actually bother to be polite enough not to apparate on the ground of another wizarding family's home, especially if said family were actually known bloodtraitors.

"Don't worry." Malfoy said, drawing Ron's attention to the mirror in his hand once more. "Should the mirror be damaged I will personally account for it."

Ron smiled humourlessly. "What a clumsy move, Malfoy, even for you." And it was. After years and years of taunting Ron over his family's difficult financial situation, it was rather inelegant to try and win him over with something material like this.

"Think what you will."

"I will, thanks a lot..." Ron sneered, while moving a bit away from his house. It was better if they remained undisturbed and unobserved during the next few minutes. The last Ron needed, was for his mother to storm in and keep him from getting any useful information out of the two Slytherins. Molly had always been a bit impulsive when it came to the safety and wellbeing of those she considered to be family. "Where is Harry?"

Malfoy tapped with his index finger on the arm rest of his chair, his eyes never wavering from Ron's. "I think he is asleep still. Yesterday he flew for the first time and he was rather beaten afterwards."

He was becoming a better actor, Ron thought, he really had no idea if the git was lying or not. Well then, he would just have to attack more aggressively. "And yet you are contacting me, even though you say this farce with the mirror is only for Harry to be able to speak with me and Hermione. One can only assume that you don't want Harry to know of this..."

"Of course." Malfoy cocked his head "And you must already know why."

Next to him, Zabini leaned forwards a bit, propping both of his elbows onto the armrests of his chair and folding his hands. "Harry is in a rather difficult situation right now but he is starting to accept his inheritance, even find enjoyment in it."

Ron snorted. "You mean you are starting to break his resistance!"

"I mean that he is starting to enjoy his inheritance, he likes the flying for example, and other aspects. And he just began to stop acting as if all of this would just vanish if only he ignored it determinedly enough."

Harry ignoring problems? Ron frowned in thought, that wasn't something Harry would normally do. His best friend never shied away from problems; sometimes he postponed dealing with them but he never denied having them and in the end he always took responsibility. What had the two dominants done to Harry to make him 'ignore' his inheritance out of spite? Or were they lying?

"Weasley," Draco started, his voice a hint deeper and warmer than before, "I know you care for him. He needs the chance to learn to take control of his magic or it will take control of him. For now it is essential for his safety and yours that he is kept away from other dominants trying to claim him at every opportunity..."

"Other dominants? I think Harry should be kept away from _you_, you in particular, Malfoy!"

"I won't do anything..."

"Anything what? Two months ago you were perfectly fine with giving him over to You-Know-Who. Don't think I forgot that. You know, to me it seems there are dozens of candidates out there - even Vykélari - who are more suitable for Harry than you, especially when it comes to looking after his safety. At least most of them didn't try to kill him! Merlin! You've got some nerves..."

Ron could immediately see that he had hit a mark with that comment. He was starting to unsettle the both of them and predictably, Zabini came to his lover's, no his fiancé's defence, just as he had done in the hospital. "Harry forgave Draco, so it isn't for you to judge..."

Ron's eyes blazed. "Damn well, Harry forgave him; that's just what he always does. Forgiving people who don't deserve it... Therefore someone needs to see to it that he isn't exploited anymore."

"I won't exploit him!"

Zabini straightened his posture worriedly, trying to mediate in a situation that was obviously starting to spin out of control. "We won't force him to mate and we will return with him to Hogwarts for the new term, even if we may not be bonded by then, you have our word."

Choosing to ignore the dark skinned Italian, Ron brought the mirror closer to his face, staring at Malfoy threateningly. "Do you remember our fourth year? When you made those 'Potter stinks' badges?"

"Yesss." Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth, eyes narrow and cold.

"Yeah. Do you also remember me breaking your nose for it?" Ron asked "No?" He chuckled bitterly.  
"No, because I didn't. I didn't even speak with him, I stood idly by when he was pranked an humiliated, accused him of having willingly entered the bloody Tournament because he wanted the attention. As if Harry ever wanted attention! When I finally gathered my wits again and came back to him without so much as a 'sorry', he forgave me, just like that and he never spoke of it again."

Ron halted for a moment, Merlin, he hadn't meant to tell them of this black page in the history of Harry's and his friendship, but when Zabini had spoken of Harry's forgiveness as if it excused everything Malfoy had done in the past...

It didn't.

And Ron decided to thrust the dagger a little deeper. He needed to drive the point home that there was someone watching over Harry, someone who wouldn't stand by idly as a friend was taken advantage of and mistreated.

"It wasn't even the worst betrayal he had to experience. Last year I abandoned Harry and Hermione in the wilds to fend for themselves, searching for a way to fight the madman you all so readily followed. And you know what? Once I found them again, he forgave me almost as readily. It's just what he does. But I won't allow that habit to destroy his life."

"It won't." Malfoy assured, careful to keep eye-contact with Ron. "I assure you that neither of us has any intention of hurting Harry, in any way."

"Yeah?" Ron took out his wand and charmed the mirror to float right in front of him. "Well, I don't care much for your promises, Malfoy. And I don't know you, Zabini so the same goes for you."

With sure movements he brought the tip of his wand to his bare, left forearm. "But I promise you that if you should betray Harry's trust for selfish reasons, or hurt him deliberately through any action of yours, I will spare neither trouble nor expense to ensure that you are given your due."  
Then, with three quick, wordless cutting charms he painted a red, bloody arrow into his pale, freckled skin, the tip pointing up towards the crook of his arm. "This I promise" he spoke the three words clearly, one for each cut. For a moment nothing happened, then more blood welled forth to pool around the wound, but not falling from his arm. It surrounded the angrily red arrow, framing it, swirling and glowing faintly with golden magic, pulsing with the strong beat of his heart, once, twice, and then a third time, before pulling back into the wound which shrivelled up and curled back into itself until nothing was left but smooth, pale skin.

In the ensuing silence Ron almost heard his heart echoing in his throat. He knew that both purebloods would recognize the rune he had used, and also the ritual. If he should break the promise made with the Tiwaz rune, the arrow would break open again and turn its direction, doubling back on itself. The wound would not stop bleeding again until some atonement was made; it wouldn't bleed much, not enough to become dangerous in any case, but it would seep through every piece of clothing of whatever fabric one might wear and thus inform everyone of the bearer's status as an oath-breaker.  
It was not as drastic as an unbreakable vow and not as dramatic, but certainly effective enough. Who would ever willingly deal with or employ an oath-breaker?

Now Zabini and Malfoy had to take him seriously, now they had to call their own behaviour into question and wonder if they would get away with the usual treatment of submissives.

That was all Ron wanted. Probably all he could do for his friend at this moment.

With deliberate slowness, both Zabini and Malfoy stood from their chairs and stepped closer to the mirror. It might have been more intimidating if said mirror had been larger than Lockhart's trashy novels.  
Still, at least it meant that he had gotten through to them.

"You are aware, Weasley, that any interference of a wizard in matters of Vykélari courtships is strictly forbidden," Malfoy started in a deadly tone, "And you know," Zabini continued with a voice just as cold and piercing, "that we could have you imprisoned for that vow alone."

Ron's heart beat quicker but he refused to back down now; he would have to lie if he said that he wasn't nervous. Yes, he had known that he was doing something illegal, something that might cause him a world of problems, and so he had also deliberately done it in a way that would not allow him a retreat: he could not withdraw from a magical promise like the one he had just made, just like one couldn't back out of an Unbreakable Vow.

But the two Slytherin's would be dearly sorry if they actually went so far as to accuse him openly. Ron had been careful to word his promise in such a way that it had nothing to do with courting or marriage, just with the betrayal of trust - whatever they were to Harry when committing it.  
He didn't point that out though, it was always good to be underestimated by ones' enemies.

"But we won't." Malfoy said insistently. "That should tell you something, Weasley. Instead, in answer to your promise, I in turn vow that I will not force Harry to mate. I can't promise to never go against his wishes or force him to do something he might not like, because sometimes certain situations might force our hands, especially with someone as eager to endanger himself as Harry is. But I promise to try and do right by him to the best of my ability."  
Then Malfoy let his wand fall into his palm with a smooth, sliding gesture and cut the upright arrow into his forearm. "This I promise."

"I will make the same vow." Zabini said and then repeated Malfoy's words before carving the Tiwaz into his own flesh.

Ron had observed all of this with no little amount of surprise. He had only meant to intimidate the two Slytherins somewhat, to make sure they would think twice before mistreating his friend. He had never expected them to be so reasonable let alone so accommodating. Of course, Ron would still be wary - who wouldn't after everything that had happened only two months ago, especially since the promise they had made still granted them a lot of leeway - but at least it was _something_. At least, while there, Harry wouldn't be forced into a mating.

"Now, Weasley: I will close the connection and bring the mirror to Harry. He'll be keeping it so you can stay in contact. And you should probably go and get Granger, Harry wanted to speak with the two of you."

"I trust you will be responsible-minded about what advice you give Harry." Zabini added almost as an afterthought that had just come to his mind.

"I always am."

"Fine. Then give Granger our regards and... we will come and get Harry in about two hours."

Ron nodded his consent and a wink of Zabini's wand later, the mirror only showed Ron's reflection, pale and tired and grim. For a moment, Ron frowned at his appearance, he looked almost like a stranger and yet ... so similar to the time he had spent at Bill's and Fleur's, and barely been able to sleep at all.

Merlin... the past was such a shrewd thing. Staring into its eyes could lead to both elation and grief and one was well-advised not to confront it recklessly or unprepared, because its weapons were sharp.  
Sometimes, Ron thought, it might have been easier for his conscience if Harry hadn't forgiven him so casually, hadn't acted as if it wasn't a huge matter for his best friend to betray him.  
And sometimes, he thought it might have been easier to bear if Harry had forgiven him because Ron was his best friend. But Harry had also forgiven Draco Malfoy even though he had almost killed Katie and Ron and Dumbledore, even though he had let Death Eaters into the school, tried to hand Harry over and bullied them for years. Harry just forgave.

And that was why Ron needed to have an eye on Harry, because Harry really was naive like that.

Shaking the gloomy thoughts from his mind, Ron slowly made his way back into the Burrow and the kitchen, the mirror clutched in his hand.

Hermione and his mother both looked up from where they sat close together at the table that was still covered with various documents and books. But in front of them, right above the copies of Hermione's precious texts of law, laid a copy of the Daily Prophet that must have arrived while Ron had been outside.  
Ron frowned and warily shuffled into the room once he saw the devilishly elated smirk that widened his girlfriend's lips and flashed in her brown, large eyes. Honestly, she could be quite scary like that, he never knew if he wanted to warn the poor guy who would soon find his balls ripped off by the sweetest and deadliest girl to ever hold a wand or if he should just safe himself.

"Wonderful news..." Hermione at him grinned over the newspaper.

"Yeah?" Ron raised the mirror. "Mine are not too bad as well..."

* * *

Blaise and Draco shooed Harry immediately into the bathroom once he had let them in that morning, telling him to hurry and get ready while they prepared his surprise and although Harry rather suspected that it had something to do with seeing his friends – after all Blaise had promised that he could speak with Ron and Hermione today – he was just a bit glad to be able to escape being alone with the two dominants for a bit longer, at least until later today, when they would take him out on a date and he would have to concentrate on evaluating his feelings and the swirls of his magic the entire time they were together.

Yes, a date. Outside of the manor. Which might have been seen as the epitome of hypocrisy, after all the warnings he had received over the last few days, and certainly Harry had been sceptical enough, but the two Slytherins were serious.

They had asked him yesterday after leaving him two hours alone with Ives. Not that Harry had minded, the other submissive certainly was a wonderful conversationalist and he had had the chance to talk to him about their newest magical problems. In detail. Unfortunately Ives could do little more than caution him that controlling his magic would be much more difficult for as long as he wasn't mated and had he admitted to not having much experience in the matter, since he had had no chance to learn anything at all prior to his mating. Ives hadn't been able to afford drawing attention to himself by asking an adult Vykélari for advice and had opted to block the major part of his magic instead.

And then almost two hours after Harry had left Blaise behind in that corridor alone, the two dominants had come to his rooms, both with wet hair and bruised lips, and he thought Blaise had limped a bit but he might just have imagined that. Draco's usually white skin had been a healthy rose and not as unblemished as it had been only two hours before, but even Blaise's dark skin had been quite obviously marked not only with hickeys, but with actual bite marks, angry bite marks displayed prominently on slender necks, suffused with blood. In short, they looked as if they had just shagged each other within an inch of their lives and then tried to hastily wash up afterwards; with the current hot weather, there simply didn't exist any appropriate clothing that would also have hidden the more obvious signs of their activities and so they had obviously not even tried. Or had they deliberately wanted him to see it?

In any case, Harry had stared at those marks with guilty fascination, unable to tear his eyes away; but luckily for him the two dominants had quite politely ignored Harry's gazes – aside from the occasional, knowing smirk – and Draco asked him to sit down with a flourish towards the settee.

Draco had then proceeded to let himself plop down right next to Harry, sitting there casually, one leg bent beneath his body, his arm propped up on the backrest of the settee.  
"Blaise told me what he did..." Draco had said after some moments in a rare show of straight-forwardness and Harry had barely refrained from groaning, suddenly having a rather good – and rather mortifying – idea of what might have happened. So Blaise had told his fiancé that he had kissed another man, which had lead to the two of them screwing each other passionately, madly (and probably silly) for who knew how long? At least it explained why they both had come fresh from a shower. Wonderful. Now Harry also made them behave irrationally when he wasn't even there...  
Even though... that was kind of a hot image. _Irrationally_ hot.

"... I didn't mean to corner you so." Blaise continued, making Harry force himself to pay attention again. "But I know now what you meant when you said I was not thinking clearly. But the influence was just so subtle, I didn't really notice it at all."

Harry gave him a tiny smile. He was still a little bit irritated that the Italian had kissed him even after being aware of the magical control Harry had fought with, but he couldn't just reject an honest apology and after all, he had felt himself how hard to resist they were, those persuasive whispers of one's magic that made you completely ignore reason.  
"Don't worry. We'll find a solution somehow." He ended lamely, glancing at Blaise as he echoed the words the Italian had used as a reassurance earlier.

Draco grinned at the both of them, his pale eyes gleaming again with that half mischievous, half sardonic spark. "Yes, we will. But actually that idea with the portkey is quite ingenious. I'm sorry I didn't think of it earlier. You know, we could use it to go out a bit. We could glamour ourselves and actually leave the Manor..."

"And if something happened, you could just use the portkey and be safe; Draco and I can just apparate back here and then get you."

"I'd still advise staying here in Italy for a while until we do have a better grip on our magic, since none of us have celebrity status here and we will be relatively undisturbed, but at least we wouldn't be tethered to the manor any more like prisoners. And even after we return to Hogwarts you'll have a safe retreat."

That caught Harry's attention."You want to go back to Hogwarts?"  
For a moment he had wanted to ask further, but he actively fought his suspicion down. He didn't want to question their every behaviour. So what if they had been non-committal about the exact date at which they'd let Harry return home? They might have had their reasons. After all the start of the new term was still over one and a half months away and they might have thought that Harry would only be put off by such a long time span. Maybe they hadn't really noticed that it had just caused Harry to believe that they would never let him go.  
At least that was what he wanted to believe.

So he let it be when Draco cocked his head and smiled at him as if he didn't quite understand what Harry was asking exactly. "Of course... Blaise and I haven't had our final exams and to be honest, the last year was rather... well, I don't think it would be a good idea to try and do the exams now. And you need to finish your education as well, or didn't you want to return to Hogwarts?"

"No, no. I wanted to return. I was just not sure if you would."

"Okay, since that is settled..." Draco said, lowering his eyes a little bit but Harry could still see him watching him, and suddenly he had the feeling as if Draco wanted to disassemble him, take him apart and study each component of him separately until Harry was totally bare, reconnoitred. And then the white Nundu sitting there so causally might just devour him at last. It was a peculiar feeling, especially because Harry knew how very uncomfortable Draco would be if he was to be unpicked like that in turn.  
But in contrast to Draco, Harry was sure that the bond couldn't do that, it could make them understand each other better, could bring them closer, but it would never bare everything, every human being was just too complex to be ever understood completely and become totally predictable.

For as long as Harry himself and not his magic, was in control of his body and thoughts, Draco would never decipher him.

"Will you allow us to take you on a date?"

Harry gaped as he was ripped from his thoughts so suddenly. "What?"

A lazy grin spread over Draco's face. "I asked, mon doux rossignol, if you'd go on a date with us," he repeated after a moment, reaching out to run his hands down Harry's face but he checked himself in time, letting it fall into his lap. He didn't seem embarrassed or disappointed, though, and with the way his grey eyes held Harry's, he couldn't help but wonder if it had been a deliberate gesture, to show Harry that they did respect his wishes.

Before he could come to a decision, Draco tilted his head, a wide smirk tearing at his lips, "Mon petit, pauvre, très doux verdier. Et si embrouillé…"

"You know…" Harry rolled his eyes once and tightened his lips in fake irritation, "the only reason I don't ask you what the hell you are mumbling, is because I really know it would piss me off."

That had earned him nothing but more amusement from both Draco and Blaise and an Italian translation of Draco's words, which hadn't helped him either. But, well, in the end he had readily agreed to the date – and why not? It would be nice to leave the manor. And for the evening he'd been left in peace so that his two dominants could prepare.

But now, while standing in the shower under the relaxing spray of hot water that seemed to massage his back and neck when he tilted it just so, Harry wondered if it was a good idea to go on an official date with the Slytherins. Not that he wouldn't like seeing something else than Lanai Manor, as beautiful as it was, but he would constantly have to stay alert that they didn't get too close to each other, something that was bound to happen on a date...

And all the while those images and sensations popped up in front of his mind's eye like flashes of a dream.

God! Those bite marks ... how strong did one have to bite to leave such bruising? And those swollen lips, red from being engaged so fiercely in a passionate battle of teeth and tongues and lips. Suckling, caressing, enticing and teasing each other and hot, mingling breath. It didn't help that Harry knew how good Blaise's lips could taste and that they felt even better when moving on his own and on the skin of his jaw line and neck.

Slowly Harry's hand inched over his stomach, fingertips reaching forward, through dark curls and over sensitive skin and along the already half-hard length nestled there. Had Blaise touched Draco just like he had him? He wondered, while pressing a fingertip to the weeping slit on his erection. Probably not, the Italian had been so gentle with Harry, kissing him with insistent but also warm and soft lips, holding him close... Harry bit his lower lip, remembering with a cruel clarity those strong hands that had ghosted over his sides so softly, a touch barely felt at all, making his muscle's strain and stretch in wicked delight as if those finger tips set his flesh aflame wherever they touched him. A trail of burning desire.  
A low moan escaped his lips as he curled his hand around the stiffening length of his arousal.

God, was it bad that he didn't want that to have been only his magic making him hunger for the other Vykélari's touch? But to never feel this level of overwhelming pleasure again, being held an wanted... Magic or not, he had never felt anything even coming close to that experience. And it had just been a bloody kiss!

And yet, he didn't want to just be desired on the basis of some obscure instincts alone.

Harry's hand slowed. But what if it was just like that? Neither Blaise nor Draco had ever shown any interest in him before... Ginny had had a crush on The Boy Who Lived since like forever, before she had even known him, and Cho... Cho had had a strong affinity for celebrities.

What if, finally, it all came down to him being the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Became-A-Magical-Abnormity?

With a sigh, Harry's shoulders slumped in resignation and he closed his eyes and reached out for the tap, turning off the warm water. He flinched at the sudden shock of the liquid ice pattering down on him, each drop feeling like the sharp pinch of a needle.  
God, this was killing him...

Ten minutes later, Harry left the bathroom, his skin still a little bit red from the cold water and the vigorousness with which he had towelled himself down, only to stop in his steps at hearing the welcome sound of Hermione pestering Blaise and Draco as to where on earth they had hidden him.

"He's taking a shower, Granger, he'll be here in a minute..." He heard Draco's cool voice answer.

Immediately, Harry felt the tenseness seeping out of his body as he hastened over to where Blaise and Draco stood right in front of what seemed to be a magical window, embedded into the wand opposite to the real windows of his living area. The living room suite had been rearranged to allow someone to sit right in front of the new decoration, which, Harry was elated to see, showed Fred and George's old room, the piles and stacks of their products filling the entire background of the scene while several chairs had been situated in a half-circle right in front of the mirror.  
Hermione and Ron each occupied one chair, both of them looking tired and worn. But their expressions brightened immediately upon seeing Harry and a cacophony of greetings broke loose.

Harry rushed over, grinning madly as he pressed his hands against the glass, the gesture mirrored on the other side by Ron and Mione.

"Well, and here he is" Draco announced quite unnecessarily, "not even having combed his hair. You're hopeless Harry..."

Harry completely ignored him. "I missed you ... how are you?"

Hermione emitted a strange mixture between a sob and a laugh, looking as if she wanted to smack him.  
"It's not us you should worry about, mate." Ron shook his head.

"Harry, are you well?"

"I'm fine, Mione." he quickly reassured, giving his friend a wide grin. God, it felt good to see the two persons again with whom he shared most of his best memories... and a huge part of the worst.

"Harry," Blaise interrupted gently from behind, waiting until the Gryffindor had turned and looked at him.  
For a moment, the brunet was taken aback at how cold the Italian seemed, how detached and haughty and a quick glance in Draco's direction showed that he, too, had become the reserved, snobbish pureblood heir again; both of their faces showed not a hint of real emotion, looking as if carved from marble. It was only in that moment that Harry realised just how much they had allowed him to see during the last few days, only in this moment with literal strangers practically sitting in Harry's room and with their masks in place once more. The suddenness of it caught him unaware.

"We'll leave you alone, now. And don't worry about the mirrors: you can keep this one here in your room if you like and we arranged for its counterpart to stay with your friends for as long as you are here in Lanai Manor, so you will always be able to contact each other. They are two-way-mirrors, that is..."

"I know what that is." Harry disrupted quietly, watching as Blaise's eyebrows drew together for the fraction of a second before he nodded. "Then we'll just get you in about two hours? I'll have an elf send breakfast up for you."

With a noticeable straightening of his posture, the Zabini heir then turned to the mirror. "Granger, Weasley."  
Draco as well, gave a curt nod towards the pair that had been his enemies once, then both of them turned to leave.

"See you later," Harry called out to them, catching the barest hint of smirk as Blaise closed the door after them. He was oddly relieved that they had kept their promise, not that he had really doubted them since their temporary bond the day before. But still, two days for establishing such a connection from Britain to Italy couldn't have been an easy feat, not with two wizarding ministries involved and no friend locally in Britain who would have had a personal interest in helping; at least Harry couldn't imagine that the Malfoys or Zabinis would gladly commit themselves to assisting Harry to speak with bloodtraitors and 'mudbloods'. Something could have gone wrong, something even out of Draco's and Blaise's range of influence and caused them to fall short of their pledge. Harry might not even have believed them in such a case.  
Therefore it was as much a relief to not have to distrust the two Slytherins for not keeping their promise to him as it was to see Ron and Hermione again.

And then to make it so that Harry could converse with them whenever he wished, even though their promise had only involved one single conversation... Harry would have to thank them later.

"Are they gone?"

He couldn't help it, Harry had to laugh at Ron's wary question. "Yes, they are."

Relieved at finally being able to speak in private with their missing friend, Ron and Hermione leaned forwards.  
"Harry, how are you, really?" The bushy haired brunette asked, the tightness in her voice betraying her anxiousness.

"I'm fine, honestly. We've had a somewhat rough start, but ... I'm fine now." He hesitated for a moment, but the question needed to be asked. "How is Ginny?"

"Crying her eyes out. She hates coming down because she thinks everyone is pitying her. When she does she gets all defensive and snappy. You know, I think she just needs to hate someone right now." Harry sighed. "And that is me?" he guessed, his stomach clenching tightly. He hadn't thought that Ginny would take this so badly. And it was with a guilty conscience that Harry realised that during the last few days and all his struggles he had never fought to be with Ginny again. He had been afraid of being a creature, of losing control over his life and his freedom and of endangering his friends and any future life partner he might chose for himself if he ignored his status as a Vykélari submissive. He was angry that this unwelcome inheritance was messing up his life, taking away his rights and making people expect him to submit himself to the next best dominant like a good, sweet submissive. He was angry that he wasn't seen as an equal any longer and that he couldn't go back to his friends – to which he counted Ginny. But he hadn't bemoaned the fact that he couldn't be with Ginny any longer. To hear now that his former girlfriend had obviously taken their nonexistent relationship (after all they hadn't gotten back together after the war) much more seriously, had given him so much more feelings and thoughts than he had returned made his stomach churn. It wasn't fair to her... "No, she doesn't hate you mate. Just your bad luck. And at the moment she demonizes Zabini and Malfoy..." Ron smiled sadly at him. "Mum is with her right now. She'll get over it eventually. To be honest, it never sat quite right with me that she had loved you before she even knew what love was. I don't know. But mate, she's not the point now. How are you, really? And don't tell me 'fine'. You scared us half to death, mate, you know, we thought someone had cursed you and that you were dying. Harry, you just didn't stop screaming..."

A little bit uncomfortable, Harry started jiggling with his legs again. He hadn't really thought about how his transformation might have affected those who had seen it, too busy with his own rather traumatic experience and everything that had gone on since then. But Harry remembered just too well how terrible it had been in Malfoy Manor when he had had to listen to Hermione's screams and then he hadn't even seen the torture. How bad it must have been for the Weasleys to see him writhing in pain, unable to help.  
"I'm sorry." He mumbled, the wiggling of his leg quickening a notch.

Ron sighed. "I swear, Harry, if you start apologising now for what happened, submissive Vykélari will become extinct once more. I just want to honestly know if you are alright."

"I am. All my senses returned and I only had a bad case of magical exhaustion afterwards but Draco and Blaise said that was normal."

"It is" Hermione said, biting her lips and observing him carefully. "And otherwise, Harry? How are Malfoy and Zabino treating you? Did they ... Harry did they force you to do anything?"

"What? No!" Harry exclaimed, then halted and said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice "well, they forced me to stay here... but nothing more. It was ... difficult at the beginning. But we came to an arrangement. They are tutoring me and helping me with ... all of this and we will be returning in time for the next school term. So you really don't need to worry about me. And..." He nervously scratched the back of his head "if you should get a letter from me, please ignore it. Uhm... just ... destroy it. I wrote it in a fit of rage the day before yesterday."

"Harry, what is in that letter?" Ron asked suddenly, his voice calm and demanding, wondering if this might bring him closer to learn if and why Harry might have wanted to ignore what was happening to him.

"Nothing!" Harry said a little bit tartly, then sighed, wondering why he felt so reluctant to tell them of his arguments and difficulties with the two other Vykélari that he had had at first. They were his best friends after all, he had shared with them experiences he would never have with Ginny, even though he had wanted to love her at some point.

"Harry, please!" Hermione begged, slipping forward onto the very edge of her chair.

With a sigh, Harry relented and proceeded to tell his friends of all that had happened between him, Blaise and Draco since the moment they had come to the hospital and guided him through the transformation, though he withheld how both Blaise and Draco seemed to constantly be driven to establish some form of physical or even magical contact between them, how Blaise had kissed him and how Harry felt himself respond with both his body and magic, and maybe some part of his mind. And he told them of Adler and Ives, even though Ron claimed to never have heard the names.

Both of his friends immediately understood how dangerous the letter could prove to be and promised to notify Harry at once when it reached them. Hermione especially was rather upset that "you didn't think about it being possibly intercepted, did you?! God, Harry, don't you remember how careful we had to be with the owl post both with Sirius and during the war?"

"I was desperate!" Harry exclaimed defensively. "They effectively imprisoned me with House Elves as guards and they humiliated me and ... Mione, they ... they more or less told me that they would have the right to rape me and that that was exactly what would happen to me if I managed to flee from the manor. I didn't even believe them; but... but it's true, isn't it? I really have no rights, legally, in all of this." He asked, already knowing the answer.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a meaningful gaze, making Harry frown.  
"Well, to put it in a nutshell, no, you haven't." Ron said but Hermione leaned forwards even more, her eyebrows practically invisible beneath her bushy hair.

"But it doesn't have to stay that way. This morning the Daily Prophet has actually printed a very good article." Hermione bit her lips to suppress her excited grin. "I think I have a new favourite journalist, you know? Wait, I have it here, I'll read it to you."

Quickly, she picked up an already rather crinkled version of today's newspaper from one of the boxes behind her and spread it out before her.

"**VYKÉLARI SUBMISSIVE FLEDGED: HARRY POTTER ABDUCTED FROM ST. MUNGO'S**  
By Sonia Crane

Last Thursday, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries became the scene of the dramatic reactivation of a submissive Vykélari line, an event last documented in 1493. The submissive in question is none other than Harry James Potter, 17, our very own, much-loved and respected Boy-Who-Lived and recent war-hero who killed You-Know-Who in the Battle of Hogwarts, thereby ending the official fighting of the Second Wizarding War.

Mr Potter was apparently taken to the hospital around 08.40 pm, with suspected curse damage, upon which he was treated and tested by the leading healers of St. Mungo's. An internal source preferring to stay anonymous confirmed that every specialist currently off-duty was called back to the hospital post-haste. "Mr Potter's magic had completely isolated itself, drawing back into his core. As far as we could tell, he could neither see, hear nor feel anything, though Mrs Molly Weasley, who amongst others had brought Mr Potter in, said that he had screamed in pain for minutes when it all began and had also shown signs of shock. He showed green markings on his forehead, cheekbones and his sides and during his short stay he grew poisonous claws and a pair of equally green wings, as large as a grown hippogryph's."

"Those are storybook symptoms of a submissive Vykélari transformation," said Jennifer Palmer, renowned historian and scion of the Brown family, who specialized on the history of pureblood families in Britain, France and Germany. But since there are several differences in the appearance and powers of submissive and dominant Vykélari, and submissives were thought to be extinct, the Healers remained with their first diagnosis. "I suppose they were understandably hesitant to go to the responsible authority" admitted Mrs Palmer, a justified guess since all Vykélari related matters are to be put forth to the head of the Vykélari community, who until this day is none other than Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater whose trial is still expected at Monday, the 27th of July. "Just imagine it! The Boy-Who-Lived in the hands of a former Death Eater..."

When even after four hours, the diagnosis could not be verified and Mr Potter's condition worsened dramatically, the Healers had no other choice but to contact Mr Malfoy. According to our source, Mr Malfoy's son Draco, and his fiancé Blaise Zabini were lead towards Mr Potter's room shortly after that conversation and entered alone, refusing to be accompanied by the Healer in charge, Andrew Cowen. "Half an hour later, they ordered the hospital staff to send Mr Potter's friends away so that they could leave undisturbed, with an unconscious Harry Potter."

Following the incident, the administration of St. Mungo's Hospital immediately informed their staff of the situation and the Vykélari law enforced secrecy they were to maintain. "But I couldn't," our source confesses. "I still think the Healers did right when contacting Mr Malfoy because Mr Potter would have died without an adult Vykélari to guide him through his inheritance. But after everything Mr Potter did for every one of us, we can't stand by idly while he is abducted, forced into a relationship with two other men and then oppressed for the rest of his life. That is nothing less than rape and deprivation of liberty! And the hospital administration even refused to inform Mr Potter's friends who had brought him in [...] I see it as my duty to call people's attention to this before it is too late. Those laws need to be changed now! If I am found out and sent to prison, at least I'll know that I did the right thing. Purebloods can't keep on trampling over the rights of everyone else just because their families forged the laws and political structures our society is build up on now to their advantage."

Grave accusation that might sadly become reality all too soon according to Mrs Palmer, who despite being female and being born into a family that hadn't brought forth Vykélari in centuries, has gathered a vast amount of information on Vykélari over the years, as a major, formative influence on today's pureblood society.  
But in the opinion of Mrs Palmer, the situation should not be used, to put purebloods into the pillory.  
"You must understand that those laws are very old and one always must interpret those things with the respective societal background. Most traditions and believes of pureblood families and the wizarding community in Britain evolved in a time when the ministry itself had little influence on the everyday life of wizards and it was preferred that the heads of families resolved most issues within the privacy of the family. The same was done with most institutions. We actually still see those dynamics in today's society," Mrs Palmer said before elaborating that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry itself has been completely self-governed until Fudge's last year as a minister. "Even crimes happening there were handled by the school itself as long as they seemed competent enough to do so. Vykélari enjoy the same autonomy when dealing with matters of courtship, family law, marriage law and inheritance law as well as deliberate interferences of wizards therein. It is inherently nothing unusual."

To the interjection that the ministry didn't allow other institutions the oppression of a minority group and neither did they condone actions that otherwise were illegal, Mrs Palmer stated that the ministry did not do these things with Vykélari either. "But without complaint there is no redress and no submissive would ever accuse his husband, his bond-mate on whose physical closeness the stability of his magic depends, especially not since any complaint would have to be lodged with the Vykélari court which consists of dominants only. And before a mating and any atrocity that might be committed during it, every opportunity of filing a complaint is moribund since submissives are strictly isolated during that time."

"So, if no one stepped forward, what would happen to Mr Potter?" This reporter asked.

"Well, I of course do not know the dominants in question," Mrs Palmer added for consideration, "and since well over two centuries have passed since the last Vykélari mating, and the society nowadays is much more liberal than it was during that time, this is more something of a worst-case scenario; but generally Mr Potter would be expected to submit himself to a mating without much resistance. He would need to establish the bond himself and share his magic over it. In time, a dominant would expect him to give birth to at least one dominant, male heir to continue the family name. His husband or – as it might turn out in this case – husbands could forbid him to associate with certain groups or individuals that they found dangerous and thereby dictate him his circle of friends and they could give certain limits to his job choices as well, even going so far as to forbid him to work at all.  
What might happen if he refuses the mating, I do not know. Vykélari are very secretive about that. But I am certain that Mr Potter himself will not be harmed, it seems that such an act would make a mating impossible. But there have been reports of dominants threatening a submissive's friends or family members in order to enforce his compliance."

Certainly a life unworthy of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. After all the sacrifices he made in order to help the Wizarding World, what will the Wizarding World do to save its saviour? What will the ministry do in order to bring back the one who stood up and fought those the ministry bowed to?  
The next days will show if the minister is going to account for the debts of his institution and our society towards a 17 years old boy we forced into the role of saviour.

For an excerpt on Jennifer Palmer's as of yet unpublished book 'On the Purity of Magic' that is giving an interesting insight into the Vykélari, see page 5."

Hermione's voice fell silent and she looked up to her friend in the mirror excitedly but Harry didn't encounter her gaze, too shocked to really think of anything to say.

"This is so clever, Harry. She didn't even come here to interview anyone, knowing that we would become liable to prosecution if we even admitted that you were a submissive Vykélari. The Mediwizard she interviewed remained anonymous and I doubt that his colleagues would rat him out, not after the way this article will influence the public. And that historian does not really know if you are a Vykélari or not, her information is given only hypothetically and on hearsay. So the only one that Crane woman endangered is herself and after making you the tragic hero, the public would become a lynch mob if Lucius Malfoy tried to turn her in. As it is, I don't think he'll be acquitted in his trial after all. His reputation won't recover in time and now every pair of eyes will be directed towards the Wizengamot. They just cannot afford to let him off easily now... this changes everything, Harry!"

Appalled, Harry shook his head. "No... that can't be."

"Harry, you know he des..."

"Don't start with that now, Ron. If Lucius Malfoy is convicted, I want him to be punished for his crimes and not because the wizarding public wants to see heads rolling. And this is... now everyone is going to think Blaise and Draco are abusing me... what did that guy say? Rape and deprivation of liberty? They aren't doing anything to me!"

Ron leaned forward in his chair. "But they are holding you captive."

"No! ... Well, at first yes, but it was for my protection also and we have come to an arrangement and they are helping me..."

"Harry," Hermione began in a tone of voice that clearly said she meant business, "do you know how that sounds? It sounds like a case of Stockholm Syndrome – that's a muggle term." She added when Ron looked at her questioningly.

"I'm not in love with them!"

Hermione moved her chair closer to the mirror. "Stockholm Syndrome is not about love, Harry." Then she said with a glance towards her boyfriend "Muggle scientists found out that one out of four hostages develop generally positive feelings, empathy and sympathy towards their kidnappers, because they mistake a lack of abuse as an act of kindness while feeling left alone by everyone else, especially when the kidnapping stretches over many days."

"I'm not suffering from Stockhom Syndrome, Mione! I don't feel abandoned and I certainly don't confuse kindness with a 'lack of abuse'. But this will destroy the names Malfoy and Zabini even though they didn't even do anything illegal! Yes, they were assholes at the beginning, but they have changed. And did you know that they never intended to force me to mate, even before they came to guide my transformation?"

Calmly Hermione raised her flat hands in a pacifying manner. "Harry, all I want is that you are aware of the problem and that you think honestly on whether or not it is right what you are feeling towards them, whatever that is."

"I think she is right, mate. As always" Ron grinned sheepishly before turning serious again. "You know, it's a little bit disturbing that you are so readily defending them right now when two days ago, you wrote a letter to us asking for help and, well, probably complaining about the treatment you received if I understood you correctly. Just hold out for a bit. Now that the situation with you is in the open, we can actively do something against those laws. If we play this article right, Harry, those laws might be repealed in a special meeting of the Wizengamot within a few days."

Harry shook his head. "I can't do that. It is wrong, Ron. I can't allow them to demonize Blaise and Draco just so that my life's a little bit easier again. They did nothing wrong. The letter was just a crackpot idea, made because I was angry and thought I'd been kidnapped. I just wanted to get Blaise and Draco back for their behaviour the day before and I honestly didn't believe them. I mean the whole thing sounds completely crazy... Hermione, you need to contact this journalist, this Crane, for me and arrange for her to meet me via this mirror. She can have an exclusive interview but under the same conditions as Rita Skeeter that one time. Please, Hermione!"

The brunette sat back on her chair with a heavy sigh, obviously unhappy about the request. But Harry was confident that she would give in, because ultimately Hermione was also of the opinion that it was cowardly to allow others to be hurt, just because it made one's own life easier.  
"Fine, then. I'll ask her but maybe she won't agree, Harry. You have to understand that she obviously put herself in danger in order to get this article printed. The only thing standing between her and a charge from Malfoy is your image as the tragic hero in need of saving."

Harry huffed in annoyance, glaring at Ron's suppressed grin. 'tragic hero in need of saving'? that was just ridiculous...  
But nonetheless he couldn't help but wonder if Hermione was right and Crane would refuse to publish Harry's statement. And did he even have the right to ask this favour of her, when she had ventured so much for him and she might end up in prison for it?

And yet... could Blaise and Draco deal with the public's condemnation? Would they prefer their family's reputation over Harry and finally make him leave, sending him back to Britain with this amount of untrained, wild magic? At least he might be safer from other dominantsnow, who would have to fear the same ostracism for touching the sacrosanct, untouchable Boy-Who-Lived.  
But the fact remained, that Harry didn't want to leave yet...

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Once again I'd like to draw your attention to:

**VYKÈLARI FANART:** By RighteousHate. Link's on my profile.

**Another Vykélari story:** Link to the forum on my profile.


	19. And When He Falleth

**CHAPTER 19: And When He Falleth**

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**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Thank you all for your supportive reviews, they really meant much to me! You guys are wonderful, truly! I hope you enjoy the chapter...

* * *

Blaise still smirked as he closed the door behind himself and his fiancé. "Merlin, I have half a mind to go back in there and ravish him right in front of his friends."

With an exasperated eye-roll, Draco turned and started to walk away to the conference room, leaving it to the dark skinned Italian to follow him; they had a meeting scheduled with their parents after all and practically no time to lose, having lost so much with the Weasel. "You wouldn't, Blaise. You are many things, but an exhibitionist, you're not."

Laughing, Blaise fell into step with the blond. "Do I hear a bit of wistfulness?"

Draco sniffed. "I'm a Malfoy!"  
Whether that meant that a Malfoy would never willingly indulge in such behaviour or that he could not because it would harm the praised Malfoy reputation and (therefore) pride beyond repair, he didn't specify. But he didn't need to, either; Blaise knew that it was a bit of both ... but to an astoundingly large proportion the latter. It was always a source of amusement to him that his prim and proper fiancé, Draco Malfoy, pureblood heir of such an illustrious family, was just as much a pervert as everyone else, even though he usually pretended to be so superior and sovereign.

Maybe that was the reason he loved to make Draco become human once in a while, too, when they were just with each other. And yesterday it seemed he had discovered just the perfect way to do that.

Merlin, that fierce expression when he had met his Dragon right after Harry had left him standing alone in the corridor and he had told his blond lover that he had kissed another man, kissed their not so submissive submissive, thereby stealing the march on Draco... priceless. And that was saying a lot when one was as comfortably off as the heir to the wealth of the Zabini family and a good part of the Lanai fortune and additionally the fiancé of the sole Malfoy heir.

**FLASHBACK**

Quite unexpectedly they had met in that same corridor, Blaise just making to return to their rooms for a shower and Draco coming from his meeting with Adler to do Merlin-knows-what, still wearing a somewhat tense expression, the source of which the Italian had not yet known. Blaise could only speculate as to how he must have looked like to his fiancé as the blonde, with the sharpness of a Vykélari's enhanced sight, took in his mussed appearance, flushed cheeks and swollen lips.  
In any case, Draco had halted in his steps the moment he laid eyes upon him and for a few timeless seconds they had just stared at each other in expectant silence, like two predators about to throw themselves into a territorial fight and Blaise had had the sudden urge to spread his wings and screech a warning at the other dominant to retreat. That same need was reflected in the flexing of Draco's shoulders and the miniscule tightening of his eyes.

Of course he had known that it was wrong, that the dominant in front of him was not vying with him for the same submissive, but allying with him; and more than that, he had known that he loved this pale haired, pale eyed, pale skinned and pale winged Vykélari, that he never ever should want to see him leave, but on some unconscious level and for a single moment the magic induced high that played his instincts like a lover would a well-known body, rippled through his thoughts like a reverberating echo and made him want to be the sole mate of the one he had tasted just now.  
Then rationality won and lucidity flashed through him like a lightning bolt. Blaise's head twitched to the side, even if his gaze never wavered from Draco's beautiful, hawk-like expression. It was a barely perceptible movement, controlled before it could really be implemented, but it was enough to break the tension.

Draco's posture relaxed slightly, also sensing the shift in the atmosphere and he took a step forward towards his fiancé.

"I've kissed him." Blaise had said out of the blue, totally straight up and soberly, in answer to the unvoiced question in Draco's gaze, while he followed the other's movements with unblinking, desiring eyes. That pale, well-sculptured body that he had come to know so well and intimately.

Again Draco paused in his steps, his eyes widening just a fraction and his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, but he stayed silent nonetheless, and so Blaise elaborated, hunting for a reaction beyond the boundaries of Draco's tight control.  
"He was agitated because he thought you might want him gone from the manor since you didn't like the nature of the bond."

Draco tilted his head slowly and came closer again, his lips twitching in something that might have been a smirk but could just as well have been a snarl. And Blaise knew that his lover was irritated, with himself for having misjudged the situation and the effects of his behaviour on Harry, with the situation as a whole, with Blaise for kissing their young Vykélari submissive...  
"And you _comforted_ him?"

"More or less." Blaise answered, the corners of his lips curling upwards, thrilled by the sizzling tension in the air around them, not yet willing to interrupt and destroy whatever game they were playing by confessing what Harry had done behind their backs; not when Draco was so beautiful in front of him in that cold, steely, sharp way of his, moving steadily forwards like a white-furred nundu on a hunt; not when Blaise himself still felt an echo of Harry's lips, of his hands against his chest and his trousers were still uncomfortably tight.  
And well, since he didn't have to fight this dominant for their submissive and said submissive was neither here nor willing to help him release all the pent-up tension, he'd need another way.

And Draco was _sooo_ good in that.

"You should have seen him," he goaded further, "all wide-eyed and beautiful, those green feathers ruffling up his hair, soft like downs."  
Of course that wasn't everything there was to the story and Harry's nervousness and wariness, his vulnerability towards the influence of his own and Blaise's magic was like a menacing wraith hovering in the back of his mind, stinging his conscience. But it was a topic for later and easily pushed aside as Draco, with the grace of a dancer, or an experienced fighter perhaps, backed him against the corridor's wall, Blaise allowing himself to be lead.

"Tempting." Draco murmured, lips close to Blaise's, dark and pale eyes clashing, as he deliberately left the other wondering if the comment was meant for him or the image of their submissive that the Italian had conjured.

"You have _no_ idea..." Blaise murmured with a lazy smirk and an air of superiority fleetingly flashing over his expression, knowing it would tick the blonde off.

Fingers pressed against his throat then in retaliation, sharp, claw-like nails threatening the delicate skin; not enough to draw blood or to hamper his breathing, but enough to be felt a little bit more with every excited beat of his heart echoing through his carotid, every intake of breath. And this time there really was a snarl distorting Draco's lips. But Blaise didn't back away and didn't try to break the other dominant's hold on him, encountering the intense stare evenly, challengingly.

"Tell me!" Draco growled, leaning in to nuzzle the juncture between Blaise's neck and his shoulder, deft fingers pushing aside the soft fabric of his shirt, only for sharp teeth to graze the vulnerable, newly bared skin.

"Tell me how he tasted, how his magic felt like... _tell_ me!"

Hissing at a particularly vicious bite, Blaise let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes, both from his lover's cruel teeth and hot lips pursuing the pulse beat at his throat and the kiss that he remembered all too well.

A breathy laugh broke from his lips. "I won't ever have a problem with my Patronus again, that's for – Ah!" Blaise cried out as Draco bit down too hard and drew blood and he viciously tugged at the soft, platinum strands in revenge.

"Fuck, Draco!"

But the blonde only pulled Blaise's hand out of his hair and pressed it above the Italian's head against the rough wallpaper.  
"I will!" he promised against the dark skin, his free hand fumbling with the button of Blaise's trousers, relishing in the almost, almost perfectly suppressed groan that action elicited from his quiet lover. Thirsty for more of that sweet sound, Draco yanked at the trousers, eager to get them down, get them off; that unpractical, damnable, blasted, totally useless barrier, those outrageously expensive tailor-made pants that at this very moment were nothing more than a tremendously annoying hindrance to him.

He might have reached for his wand to vanish them altogether, had Blaise not grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a harsh, forceful kiss, teeth clashing almost painfully against his as the Italian sought to take the control that up to this moment had almost solely lain in Draco's hands.  
But not this time.

Pretending to yield, the blonde let go of his darker fiancé, relaxing into his kiss, into his hold, waiting until the lips upon his gentled and moved with more finesse, nipping and suckling at his lower lip to get him to open, both his mouth and himself, to the sensual onslaught.

Draco could have blissfully contented himself with such a sweet surrender, but not after having seen his lover flaunt his most recent activities so brazenly. Draco didn't want to even think about what it might have cost them, what abyss Blaise's actions might have opened between them and Harry, the bridges over which Draco would have to build with much patience and care, especially after what Adler had just told him. It made him so fucking _angry_ ... and a bit vengeful, too.

And god dammit, he was jealous! Jealous of Blaise for having stolen what Draco had assumed would naturally be _his_ to take, if one of them would ever get close enough to the younger submissive so that Harry would consent to something as innocent as a kiss. Had he not told his Italian lover that very first afternoon here how he wanted to kiss him? Taste his magic and feel his lips, the lithe body trembling in his arms...

Suppressing a growl, Draco waited for the right moment, when Blaise had released his collar and was sufficiently distracted, then he quickly grabbed his lover's wrist and twirled him around to press him face first against the wall, twisting his arm behind the Italian's strong back to the music of a sharp outcry of surprise and discomfort.

Within a moment he had yanked the offending trousers down sufficiently, baring lean hips, strong thighs, twitching muscles and oh so wonderfully, luxuriously smooth skin that just begged him for a more thorough exploration; but as soon as his fingers glided over the side of Blaise's leg upwards, the Italian started to struggle against his hold and Draco had to press his whole body flush against his lover's to keep him in his grip.

"Shhh" he hissed against the dark curls after a few minutes of inconclusive wriggling and struggling and he finally managed to sneak his free hand around his lover's waist and to his raging erection without him escaping. Blaise hissed and shuddered as the lean, warm fingers closed around his shaft, caressing the silken skin, then tightening their hold, slowly pumping him with firm, even strokes.  
"Stay still and I'll reward you, beloved..." He promised with a silken murmur, nuzzling the strong neck with half closed eyes. God, how he loved that scent; it made him want to _devour_ and he took his time to worship and seek out every sensitive point he knew of, licking, nibbling and kissing along his lover's neck until it wasn't enough anymore, neither for him nor for Blaise.

Gently, Draco bit down on the muscles and flesh at the juncture of Blaise's neck and shoulder as a last warning to stay in place before he moved back a bit and released his lover's arm, to unzip his own trousers and push down his briefs just enough to free his own engorged, swollen flesh, a low moan escaping his lips as the pressure from the unforgiving fabric eased.

For a moment he contemplated taking out his wand for a stretching and lubrication charm and just plunging into the tempting tightness in one firm push; but then again, Blaise had had enough of magical pleasure for one day... and sometimes it was more satisfying to use other, more pleasurably torturous means.

And he wanted to see the dark Italian come undone in his arms.

Moving forward again, Draco leaned against his lover, putting his free hands over the dark ones that fanned out over the wall, rubbing his erection teasingly against that crack where he'd bury himself soon, letting Blaise feel all of him.

"Did you touch him?" He asked in a low murmur, deceptively gently nibbling at the other young man's earlobe as he rocked against him, making him shudder and arch into his movements.  
"I know how your hands wander when you _kiss_..."

With a sudden shake of his head, Blaise freed his abused ear and flashed the blonde a nasty, burning look over his shoulder. "He broke away first."

Draco chuckled. It hadn't been a very long kiss then. Maybe it was petty, but he did feel a little bit assuaged at that and in a show of his approval he rewarded the dark skinned Italian by once again closing the fingers of his right hand around his lover's agonizingly swollen shaft, starting to stroke and tease the engorged, hot flesh in his hand, every once in a while pausing to caress the weeping tip with his thumb in slow circles, gathering the precome and spreading it over Blaise's erection as he did so.

"Feels good?" A low, amused whisper against a sensitive ear and predictably Blaise's eyes flashed in indignation and he reached back for his lover and pulled him close by his soft, silken strands; turning, twisting his own upper body to encounter the pale lips with the ferociousness that Draco seemed to be after.

But he had to break away soon, successfully distracted and overwhelmed by the hand moving quicker up and down his over-sensitive, pulsing flesh, making his breath come in short, ragged gasps of intense pleasure.

Intently staring at his lover's tight expression, the dark eyes still turned towards him, pupils blown and full of fire, Draco raised his other hand and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, teasingly swirling his tongue around the digits, coating them with his saliva. All the while Blaise watched him, lips parting in a silent moan of pleasure both from the show Draco put on for his sake and the unrelenting hand fisting his straining erection fervently.

Then, with a teasing smirk, Draco brought his wet fingers down, pushing them in between the crack of Blaise's cheeks, quickly locating the puckered entrance, so inadequately guarded from him by only two rings of muscles.  
Without hesitation, Draco thrust the two digits in, up to his knuckles, groaning as he felt the inner walls clutch at him tightly, his own erection throbbing with the desire to have that vice-like grip _there_. Blaise hissed and panted as the roughness and burn of the sudden entrance mixed with the pleasure, only fuelling it and he gravitated towards his lover's presence as Draco pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto his shoulder.

For a long moment they were both still, then Draco pulled his fingers back slowly only to thrust them in again viciously, repeating the movement again and again, then curving them just so until the sudden shudder that went through Blaise's whole body told him unquestionably that he had found what he had searched.

Hungrily Draco took in the sight of the slightly curly, dark shock of hair falling forward with a grown, finding comfort in the coolness of the wall; he drunk in the quiet moans, relished in the movements of Blaise's hip that the Italian fought so much to suppress but couldn't, helpless to keep still, his hip moving forward into Draco's fist and back again onto his fingers scraping over his prostrate.

A shudder, a tightening of muscles as if in agony, a low moan and Blaise came in Draco's hand, the pale fingers moving forward to catch the pearly liquid spurting out. His other arm wound around his lover's torso, pulling the dark, unresisting body against his chest to offer some support even if it might not be needed. But he relished in the heaving of Blaise's ribcage that he could feel so much better in this position and in the still frantic pounding of the heart that he had claimed, reflected in the rapid, rhythmic movement of the carotid that was beating there so close to Draco's own lips beneath a thin layer of sweat covered skin.

His doing.

But Draco's own erection was almost painfully hard by now, straining against his lover's behind and weeping onto his lower back. And he hadn't more of a few moments of patience in him before he moved back a little bit, enough to coat his thrumming flesh with the sticky substance on his fingers.

"My turn..."

"No."

Burning, black eyes met molten mercury over a dark skinned shoulder and Blaise quickly turned around; Draco let him, because even though sex between them sometimes became a violent battle for dominance, there was still an unvoiced line never to be crossed. Choice.

That didn't mean that Draco's eyes didn't flash with irritation and challenge and demand, that they were only slightly assuaged by the still lustful gaze they encountered.

"Want to see you..." With that growled explanation the Italian hooked one leg behind Draco's knee and pulled him closer, holding onto his shoulder and using the wall as leverage to push himself up and wrap his legs around his lovers pale waist.

And Draco had to admit, that this was even better, seeing that strong jaw tense, those lips open in a silent scream as he pushed in with one quick thrust, gravity and Blaise's weight assisting him in the less than gentle invasion.

"So tight" he groaned, marvelling at how much more tightly his lover's muscle's squeezed him with the scanty makeshift lubrication. It was only made worse (or better) by the rhythmic clenching and unclenching as Blaise teased him with a lewd grin, even though he had to be in pain from the sudden stretching. But Merlin, if he didn't stop his tantalizing movements, Draco would come right then and there.

"Stop that..." he moaned.

"What _Draco_ ... no control at all?" Blaise laughed at him breathlessly.

Damn that stupid, arrogant, bastardly ... that's it!

With a sharp twist of his hips, Draco drove deeply into his lover, watching with satisfaction as the dark one's muscles tensed and he arched against him, head thrown back and he set a ruthless, relentless pace of brutal thrusts while Blaise clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh.

Merlin, this was heavenly, the way those long legs and arms latched on to him, Blaise's expression tense and distorted in mindless pleasure, his passage clenching and quivering around him while he pinned him to the wall, thrusting savagely into his body. Fire kindled in his groin and burned its way up into his stomach, his body, searing his nerves, making him moan and pant and the fibres of his muscles vibrate expectantly.

He could feel Blaise's length, once again stiff and swollen against his stomach and he smirked at the dishevelled look, the dark brown locks, wet with sweat, clinging to his forehead, lips bruised and eyes clenched.

"Beautiful..."

Growling, the Italian pushed forward to lock his lips onto Draco's, kissing him harshly, demandingly with more raw passion than finesse and still, it was nothing less than mind-blowing in both of their maybe not-so-humble opinions.

But they had to break away soon for lack of air and Blaise curled against him a bit more, leaning down to reach his neck and shoulder, sucking angry red marks onto his pale, easily bruising skin, varying his nibbles and bites from soft and tender to hard and ruthless and hurtful.

It was becoming too much, the delicious friction and tightness of his lover's body, the distracting pain in his shoulder, the looks of bliss an lust on Blaise's face whenever he drew away to arch against the wall or collect another of those burning, intense kisses. The throbbing pleasure became all-encompassing and yet he had enough awareness left to know that Blaise was not as far gone yet.

"Touch yourself!" He demanded, ordered, and though his lover's eyes burnt with indignation at his tone of voice, lust and desire and the intense, burning need to come outbalanced everything else. A hand wormed itself between their bodies and started to move up and down the hard length of Blaise's erection quickly, almost desperately. It didn't take long and Draco felt the strong muscle's around him spasm and tighten, so much it almost bordered on painful and his lover's body trembled and arched helplessly as his come splashed on both of their shirts.

And Draco followed suite with a horse cry, milked by the hot, warm passage surrounding him, his release rushing through his body like a shock of lightning and it was all he could do to keep standing and not let him and his lover fall to the ground. He buried his face in the nook of Blaise's shoulder though, panting against the sweat-soaked skin as he rode out his own orgasm, trying to reign in the furious beating of his heart and his still ragged breathing.

Well, that had been ... intense.

Merlin, what would Harry say if he'd seen them, could see them now? Their poor, innocent submissive... he'd probably blush and stammer and fiddle, at a loss of what to do with himself and yet unable to look away.  
Because while he wanted to flee them with Ives' help, Draco had seen his reactions to their advances, their touches and flirting, and whenever Harry didn't allow himself to think too much, they were far from repelling.

Too soon his spent erection slipped from his lover's body and, Blaise's legs lowered themselves from around his chest. Reluctantly Draco drew back, pulled out his wand and started to vanish the traces of what had transpired just now. But as he considered removing the marks on Blaise's body and his own with a few minor healing charms, Draco halted. Perhaps it would do Harry good to be confronted with the obvious, undeniable evidence of Blaise's and his relationship.  
He knew, Harry had been lying when he had said he wasn't gay – or bi for that matter – but did Harry? He probably hadn't thought much about it so far, and that needed to change if they wanted to win him.

But first it seemed they had to smooth over whatever Blaise had done.

"So." He fixed the Italian with a rigid stare. "Will you tell me now what truly happened?"

**END OF FLASHBACK**

Blaise silently smirked to himself as he remembered how Harry couldn't help staring at them and his thoughts inevitably returned to his and Draco's current conversation about having others watching them.

It was true that Blaise felt no desire to share his lover in such a way and have other's look at that delectable body with the same desire he felt for him or pure lust... and he had never had the urge to prove to others that Draco was undeniably his, it was enough that they themselves knew it.

But Harry ... while he didn't want anyone but him and Draco to be privileged to the view of the submissive's unique beauty, especially with those markings and feathers adorning him, he definitely wanted everyone to know the young Vykélari was off limits; and he wanted to prove to everyone, Harry's friends included, that the brunet belonged to them and that nobody would ever change that.  
Which was irritating, since it wasn't true.

Yet.

And still, Draco was right, Blaise was no exhibitionist and while he might indulge in dreams of devouring Harry's lips in front of his pretentious friends and imagining how they might react to seeing Harry forget himself and the world around him, quivering under Blaise's hands and lips, he wouldn't do it.  
He was the heir of a renowned pureblood family after all and he would behave accordingly.

Besides, Harry wouldn't want to be paraded around like that and he deserved more consideration, needed it. Especially after everything that had been revealed to them the previous day.

It certainly had been an unwelcome surprise that Harry wanted to leave, though Blaise sided with Adler's opinion on the matter. During their connections the boy certainly hadn't been tense and wary like one would around one's perceived kidnappers and captors. He had no hard feelings towards them and Blaise had felt that Harry didn't want to leave. It therefore seemed to be the logical explanation that Harry had just needed the security of being able to leave at all at some point of the future, to start trusting them and their guidance right now after his transformation and to allow himself to enjoy his stay in Lanai Manor, enforced however it might have been at the beginning.

The emotions Blaise had sensed during their connection had quietened Draco's concerns somewhat and even appeased him enough to not be overly angry at his fiancé for having lost his control so spectacularly with the younger submissive.

Instead the blonde had voiced his concerns that their own instincts were coming forth more and more, a suspicion he had had since noticing that he wanted to impress and woo the Gryffindor like a displaying bird might do with a prospective mate.

Well, they'd just have to keep an eye on that.

* * *

The moment they entered the conference room, Draco knew something was fundamentally, tremendously wrong.

It certainly wasn't anything dramatic, nothing that most people would find suspicious or remarkable anyway. But in a manner it was like the sudden cacophony of flapping and screeching caused by a startled flock of birds that might or might not herald a lethal, hunting beast.  
In either case, only someone who had already been made into the prey of the cruellest, most heinous monsters hunting in the Forbidden Forest really learned to react to such an early warning signal – whether it still occurred in that accursed forest or a small piece of woodlands or a marketplace – with a momentary freezing, a mental shutdown after which, if the threat proved real, one panicked and fled mindlessly; but there were also those whose existence reduced itself to logic and cold blooded reason in such a situation – a mind running at full speed – processing the never ending influx of information from adrenaline heightened senses.

And by now Draco had learned that the only thing to be achieved by running was the turning of one's back to the danger. An unforgivable mistake with potentially fatal consequences.

Like the last time they had been in this long stretched galleria, the morning sun falling through the line of tall, wide windows swathed the room in a faintly white-golden, almost surreal glow and threw long shadows onto the pale walls, marbleized with tones of beige and sandstone. And over it all was, resplendent, the assembly of Roman gods, gazing down at them from their aloft position in the breathtaking fresco adorning the arched ceiling.

The two-way-mirror connecting Lanai and Malfoy Manor was also still hovering in the air at the far wall, showing the same parlour of Draco's home where their parents and Severus had last met them and as if they had never left it, all of them sat there enthroned in their respective arm chairs and the only differences indeed were the two missing portraits among the ranks of Malfoy Vykélari as well as the robes that those gathered in the parlour wore.

But it wasn't the familiarity that stroke Draco, that sudden feeling of a Déjà Vu, no, it was the gaze of his mother and her pose; so painfully stiff and tense, as if someone had tried to cast a Body-Bind curse at her that had terribly gone wrong. It was the very same posture that she had almost permanently adapted during those nightmarish months when their home had hosted Death Eaters and the Dark Lord in person, the months when Draco and his parents had almost become prey in their own home, working animals that had served their time and were waiting for their master to make time and butcher them.

Then, his father had still been convinced he could win the Dark Lords favour again, but Narcissa Malfoy had doubted it, known better than to believe in a future at his lordship's side as his trusted servants, bathing in his none-existent grace.

Draco had learned to read her well when she was like this, unaccustomed as he had been to dealing with truly dangerous men; because the little hints she had given him had been, well, not quite vital but at least essential to his well-being.

And now, when he had thought he'd never have to see her again like that, something had put her in that state of fear and determination again. Something had happened, a dreadful, unexpected event that made Narcissa Malfoy, one of the bravest Slytherins he had ever known, fear for the future of their family.

Immediately his brain leapt into action at that early warning signal, trying to dissect his mother's expression into clues to decipher just what was wrong, painstakingly going over everything that might have happened in the last 48 hours to put this tense, cracked inexpressiveness on that proud woman's face.

Had Harry's letter found its way to the public? It was possible, if a bit early. The letter would only just have reached England by now, if the owl was fast and rested only little during the journey.

Or perhaps the Aurors had managed to uncover their – especially his father's – underhanded tactics in the Malfoy trials?  
Merlin, that would be disastrous; his father's perpetrations in that matter were as grave as can be: the spying potions used on the three Aurors working on their cases, and the potions intended to make them sympathize with their family, bribery, threats... and damn it, while Draco and his mother had had no part in it, they were at the very least confidants to the Malfoy patriarch's misdeeds.

But maybe it wasn't that dire, certainly that mad sparkle Draco had seen in his father's eyes during the last months of the war would be back again in those silver pools if that were the case. And they were clear of insanity as far as he could judge from this distance, only cold and infuriated.

Had one of the three henchmen his father had employed to keep an eye on the Aurors tried to blackmail them? That certainly would enrage the Malfoy patriarch. But no, no that wasn't very likely; apart from the fact that they, too, had been given that mild variation of a love potion, this was not a matter that money couldn't resolve, nothing that would truly unbalance Narcissa Malfoy.

Which only left Harry's letter.

Draco wasn't sure if Blaise noticed his disquiet or if he had just stood still for too long, but he felt the Italian brush his arm fleetingly in a vague gesture of support and comfort, a gentle reminder of his solid presence, and together they walked along the length of the U-shaped table and the row of stiff chairs, every step that brought them closer revealing more lines of graveness and tension on the faces of people both he and Blaise had thought to be unconquerable not so long a time ago.

Amalyne certainly hid her feelings well, cold and beautiful and untouchable she seemed, just as she had always been. Like a frost covered, Black Baccara Rose she sat there upright and aloof as if whatever problem had arisen had no bearing on her and Draco was forcefully reminded that his future mother-in-law was indeed a murderess who had evaded conviction seven times. So maybe it wasn't surprising that she was still relatively untroubled.

But his godfather was not so unaffected. Even though he rested in his chair like a dark crow passively observing the melodrama of life, with his elbows propped up on the arm rests of his chair and his folded hands hiding his thin lips, the dark gaze spoke volumes as it flickered towards his old friend, Draco's father, with a sense of sharp alertness that Draco had come to associate with this man, but also with a palpable amount of alarm and wariness.

And his father... from this close Draco could see the unholy fire burning in his eyes and he knew that under the facade of the sophisticated aristocrat that the Malfoy patriarch usually portrayed lurked the vengeful, unforgiving creature of pure rancour dangerously close to the surface, ready to be released.  
He wasn't sure if he wanted to know just which poor bastard would have to try and fend it off.

"Where have you been?" The question lashed out at them like a whip and Draco shared a quick glance with his fiancé and lover and with it their understanding of the situation within that single moment. This was going to be bad.

Severus seemed to think so too, and with his pragmatic way he tried to stabilize the atmosphere as if it was one of his potions getting out of control "Lucius, this is not helping..."

"We are right on time, father, as you well know." Draco said calmly, cutting his godfather short; he had cast a tempus right before they had entered the conference room, after all, just to be sure. "What..."

But his question was interrupted in turn. "Have you mated him yet?"

Sharply, Draco eyed the Malfoy patriarch.  
So, this most likely was about that letter... but for as long as he wasn't sure, he would be damned before he admitted to their knowledge of Harry's rash act. Maybe it was something else altogether that had his father in such a state and in that case it was better their parents were unaware of Harry contacting his friends in any way for as long as possible.

Right next to him, Blaise's lips curled into a trace of a snarl and he drawled a "No" at the blonde man in the mirror, deliberately letting his annoyance bleed into his voice. After all, merely two days ago all of them had agreed that it would be better to court their submissive gently instead of pressuring him and he had vowed in front of all of them that he'd never force Harry.

"By Morgaine, why not? You certainly have had enough time!" Lucius snapped, his long fingers clawing into the upholstering of his arm rest.

"We agreed that we'd not force him! Harry isn't ready to mate." Blaise hissed back, aggressively enough that Draco brushed his wrist fleetingly to calm him some. This was not a battlefield where they could afford to let emotions rule their line of attack.

"Well, the point has come where this has become a luxury we cannot afford..."

"We gave him our promise!"

"Only a fool would..."

The situation might have escalated, had not Narcissa intervened at that moment, her calm, authoritative voice slicing through the boiling atmosphere. "Lucius! They do not know."

"What do we not know?" Draco demanded with narrow eyes. "What happened?"

To his astonishment, his father pulled forth his wand and with a harsh gesture he levitated an issue of the Daily Prophet from one of the side tables towards the mirror, so rapidly that it clashed against it with an audible thud, the front page pressed flush against the reflective surface.

"This! This happened!"

Once more, Draco's and Blaise's eyes met worriedly after only one glance at the newspaper. This was quickly becoming worse and worse.

Half of the page's surface was covered with a collage of three images, the left one showing that awful photograph of Lucius Malfoy in the rough attire of an Askaban prisoner that had been published in this very newspaper only two years before. It did not bode well that the article's author had chosen this specific picture, for every reader would forcefully be reminded of the Malfoy patriarch's history as a Death Eater; a not very subtle attempt to further discredit a man who was already treading on more than thin ice where the public's goodwill was concerned.

The one on the right side pictured Draco and Blaise in front of the courtroom right after Draco's acquittal, made when a journalist had interviewed the blonde young man to his opinion on Harry standing witness for him. It had annoyed Draco endlessly at that time, not only because once again, everything had been about Harry Potter, even when it was his life, his future that had been at stake in that very courtroom, but also because he had just wanted to return home with his lover and leave that part of his past behind him for good.

And the third picture, the largest in the middle, showed Harry with his hair in wild disarray, a bit longer than it was now, his face smeared with soot and a few drops of blood. The black and white photo could not do justice to his so expressive emerald eyes but it had managed to capture the utter exhaustion in them, the unique mixture of grief and relief and bafflement at being alive when so many were not, that only a survivor of battle and war could really emphasize with.  
Draco remembered that picture well, someone had shot it right after the Battle of Hogwarts and he was sure that every wizard in Britain and many outside of it had seen it.

And everyone gazing at it now would be reminded of just who this was, of just what he had done and gone through for each and every wizard in Britain.

Together with the article's title, emblazoned in big letters above it all, the collage was more than disheartening.

'VYKÉLARI SUBMISSIVE FLEDGED: HARRY POTTER ABDUCTED FROM ST. MUNGO'S'

"Oh Merlin..." Blaise breathed next to him and Draco could only concur as he started to read the article, feeling as if someone had punched him in the gut.

* * *

Blaise had no idea whether he should be more furious or more impressed by what he read in the article. As someone who had used a manipulation of the press as a means to achieve his goals in the past, he certainly had to concede a certain amount of aptness to that Crane.

Damn it, he couldn't even accuse her of calumny...

All in all, the only law that she had broken was the Vykélari law of secrecy concerning submissives and since she made it seem as if Harry was being held captive, abused and possibly raped and forcefully mated, and since she was a journalist who could claim liberty of press, they'd be publically lynched if they tried to prosecute her.

But, damn it, the bloody, fucking _gall_ of that woman.

'...The Boy-Who-Lived in the hands of a former Death Eater…'  
Well, it was true that no one could honestly contest Lucius having been a follower of the Dark Lord, but to say it like that was going a bit far, wasn't it?

'...refusing to be accompanied by the Healer in charge, Andrew Cowen…'

Now that really ticked Blaise off! They had refused to let Cowen into the room, because that asshole had tied their Harry down with rough ropes that had chafed open his sensitive skin at the ankles and wrists and had not even treated the wounds; and because he had bound his wings together into an impossible position that had made his muscles cramp painfully... damn it, Harry had been scared to death! Remembering the warning signals the poor submissive had emitted, still made his flesh crawl.

By Mordred's vengeful nature, he would _so_ sue that perverted bastard and wipe that conceited expression of his face until he came begging for Harry to make them stop... he' be fortunate if Blaise left him some knuts to fend for himself!

And then he'd hex him with huge abscesses.

That Asshole.

Where had he been? Ah yes...

'...abducted, forced into a relationship with two other men and then oppressed for the rest of his life…' and then just a sentence later '…rape and deprivation of liberty…'  
Well, that at least was an accusation that was easy to refute, with nothing more than an impartial witness and a bit of veritaserum; after all, he and Draco could honestly claim innocence in that regard... well, maybe the part about the deprivation of liberty was not completely unfounded but really, that was taking it out of context...

In any case, Blaise had to admit that the Mediwizard's statement was cleverly and beautifully incorporated into the article. He would have positioned it more closely to the end so that any reader would have those sentences fresh in their mind once finishing their lecture, but otherwise...

But now the article really became interesting. Crane undeniably used the Mediwizard's statement to affiliate Harry's plight to the ruthlessness and power of purebloods. 'Purebloods can't keep on trampling over the rights of everyone else just because their families forged the laws and political structures our society is build up on now to their advantage.' She wrote there.

If not handled correctly, this situation could dwindle into a public uprising against the purebloods in their society, and that would not end well for them at all. Not after their position had already been weakened by the last Wizarding War.

Even Mrs. Palmer's following account could not invalidate that allegation. On the contrary, while creating the impression of giving voice to different opinions, Crane only strengthened the criticism at their society's distribution of power. And indeed Blaise had to admit that purebloods had always tried to retain as much autonomy as possible, granting the ministry only the minimum of power, supporting weak, easily led ministers...

By Morgaine. This article was not mainly about Harry Potter, even if it tried its best to make it seem so. It was the declaration of a cold war at which end stood a ministry controlling every aspect of their life, leaving single families and individuals little possibilities to significantly influence political events. Crane used Harry Potter, the war hero as an iconic figure, the martyr kindling the people's fighting spirit to try and disempower the purebloods. And she was damned successful at that.

Ending the article by describing what would have happened to their Harry 300 years ago and then passing the ball to the ministry by appealing to its duty as the law enforcer and protector of its citizens as well as reminding them of the debt to Harry for fighting their war just gave proof to her goal.

Merlin, he could just imagine how that would tear their sweet Harry apart. Blaise knew that those were societal changes Harry would approve of, especially now with Kingsley Shacklebold as the minister, but at the same time he would hate being made into a tool and weapon once again. And perhaps, perhaps he'd even be somewhat indignant for their sake, because while Harry was portrayed as the martyred hero, Draco and he were made into the foul villains and Blaise liked to think that Harry cared enough to be affronted at that.

He couldn't really explain why that would make a warm and fuzzy feeling spread through his chest, but it did and he only hoped that the newspaper plastered against the mirror in front of their faces would successfully hide the tiny smile he couldn't quite keep from erupting.

A glance to his side, though, sobered him up quickly. Draco's stony expression as he kept on staring at the article, had him reach out for his lover worriedly.

"Draco?"

Obviously Lucius took that as a sign that they had finished their lecture, for the newspaper was suddenly ripped away from the mirror, only to instantly catch flames of the palest blue and burn to a cinder within a moment or two, still smouldering shreds raining down onto the expensive carpet.

Alarmed, Blaise eyed his future father-in-law warily, taking in the harsh lines of fury on his face, cracks and fissures in the once so solid wall of control the blonde usually cultivated, wondering when he had ever seen him lose his bearings before like this and coming up blank. He had not been there of course, to see how the Malfoy patriarch had held himself during the war, but the vision he presented now was so far from the sophisticated, superior aristocrat he knew, it made him step back involuntarily, as if loss of control was a disease he might contract.

"This could ruin our family!"

"Lucius!" Severus interrupted once again, his voice sharp with reproach as he sat up in his chair. "Get hold of yourself!"

"Shut up, Severus!" The blonde snarled with barely a glance towards the former potions master, his eyes tearing into his son.

"You have to mate him and return to England at once. If this matter is not resolved immediately, the public will crush us!"

"Father..." Draco tried to stop Lucius' ranting, but to no avail and Blaise stepped closer to him, aghast of what was being asked of them, both from Lucius and all the promises they had made to Harry ... and to Ronald Weasley little more than half an hour ago.  
The skin under which the Tiwaz slept like a beast in hibernation prickled uncomfortably.

"Already they are thirsting for our blood. The article has been out for barely an hour and already I had to adapt the wards to keep the howlers out! Purebloods demand we settle this before it becomes a problem for all of us, and Potter's fanclub clamours for their Boy Saviour. My trial is in two weeks exactly and the public will demand punishment..."

"Forcing Potter will gain you nothing, at this point, Lucius!" Severus interrupted and Blaise felt Draco relax at his side a bit, and he himself felt overcome with a pathetic gratefulness for the cold, pragmatic voice of reason their former potions professor managed to retain under the worst of circumstances.  
"Do you think they will go easier on you when you forced the boy just because you are his father-in-law?"

"Whoever said that the public would have to learn of it?" Amalyne spoke up calmly from her chair at the side, her dark eyes resting idly on the folded hands in her lap.

Blaise felt his lips part in consternation as he stared at his mother. "You cannot possibly think that you could ever keep something like that a secret."

"Why not?" Narcissa asked, cold determination freezing her delicately chiselled features into a mask of stone and ice. "He willingly witnessed for me and Draco, didn't he, when there has been nothing but bad blood between him and us in the past. Why ever would he do that if he hadn't already felt drawn to my son?"

"Such a touching love-story..." Amalyne pondered with a hint of derisiveness, her gaze wandering over both her son and son-in-law, and Blaise knew his reaction was closely monitored and judged as she spun her web of lies around them. A black widow, indeed.

"The hero who tragically fell in love with his enemy, without any hope of ever having his love returned, holding on to the only means of getting the attention of what his heart desired: by antagonizing him. But he comes to his love's rescue when he is needed and only a couple of weeks later the favour is returned when the boy comes into an inheritance that allows him to be with his love." Her lips curled into a tiny smile. "As if you were fated to be together."

"Harry would never play along with such a charade." Draco said as calmly as he could, still trying to reason with their parents, when, in Blaise's opinion, they had obviously lost their minds.

Narcissa shook her head slowly. "Of course he will. Trust me, I have my means. Just bring him here before me."

"Mother..."  
Blaise reached over, laying one hand one the small of his lover's back at hearing that voice shivering with the sound of betrayal, reassured that Draco was standing his ground when he leaned back slightly into his touch.

"You were the one who said it would be better if Harry were to enter a mating bond willingly."

Narcissa inclined her head in acknowledgement at her son's reminder, but it was Lucius who answered, now calmer once again, sure of the support of his wife and Amalyne and reassured by their confidence in their little plan. "The situation has changed."

Draco let out a flow of air, disbelievingly trying to come up with something that would make their parents reconsider.  
"Just give me the chance to resolve this, father, two days or three, I will think of something, I promise. We have not forced him or assaulted him. With veritaserum we can attest to that! This article has no basis in fact and I can prove it..."

Slowly, Lucius stood, an imposing figure now as his body stretched to its full height. Draco had always envied his father for his redoubtable presence commanding respect so easily, but right now the vision was cracked by his earlier loss of control, at least in Blaise's opinion, who nurtured his indignation in silence at Draco's side, angry that they would endanger his and Draco's and Harry's happiness in order to avoid facing the consequences of their own stupidity.

"Even if you manage to do just that my son, it will not earn us back the public's favour. Only when it looks as if that brat mated you out of love they will not dare to put his father-in-law back into prison."

Draco shook his head, a jerky movement betraying his turmoil. "We swore to not let anyone force him into a mating bond."

His fury flaring again, Lucius took a few quick steps towards the mirror until he stood directly before them, his eyes blazing. "You have a duty to your family! For once in your life, fulfil it!"

In a placating gesture, Draco raised his hands, his voice strained as he tried to not let his father see how much that sentence had hurt. "Give me a few days of time, I will do my utmost to keep you out of prison, I swear."

At the same time, Blaise started seething inwardly, shivering with suppressed rage like a rattle snake about to strike. How dare they, how dare they ask this of them, how dare that man try to guilt-trap his lover when it had been Lucius who had almost brought about the Malfoy family's ruin? How dare he make his fiancé feel inadequate?

He should be glad instead that there were 1500 kilometres between them or Blaise would make him sorry, for ever having spoken, having even thought those words...

Growling Blaise whipped out his wand before Lucius could try to pressure Draco even further and snarled at him "We are not going to force Harry or allow you to come anywhere near him while he is still unmated!"

With those words and a quick wave of his wand, he closed the mirror connection before he could say something unfortunate towards Lucius or his mother, that might get either himself or Draco disinherited.

... which might not be that intolerable. He had enough money from his father's side to support both himself and Draco comfortably and if it meant getting rid of those _hypocrites_, it might be worth it... Merlin, he couldn't stop shivering with rage and disgust!

Suddenly, there were gentle fingers on his shoulder, and his attention snapped back to his pale lover. "Are you alright, Blaise? You're trembling..."

Whirling around, Blaise grabbed Draco's collar and pulled him close until their faces ware barely more than an inch apart, staring into surprised pools of mercury, eyebrows drawn together. He could feel the blonde's breathing hitch and his fingers start to pry his own away from that expensive shirt, but he wouldn't let him.  
"Don't you _dare_" he growled, shaking his lover once for good measure, "taking those words to heart!"

For a few seconds, Draco blinked at him in incomprehension, then his gaze softened and he fixed him with a wry smirk, finally giving up his endeavour of loosening Blaise's grip on his collar.  
"You're an idiot. But I love you, too."

* * *

Severus looked at his friend of old as if he saw him for the first time. Had he ever witnessed Lucius lose himself in rage and fear like this? The Slytherin prefect and king cobra of their illustrious house in Hogwarts who had introduced him to the finer circles in society, the aristocrat, heir of Abraxas Malfoy, the Death Eater, the Father and Husband who had made him godfather to his only son.

A son who quickly proved to be worth far more than his father. And wasn't that rich? Not a year ago Draco had been a brat who wouldn't have been able to control his own emotions if his life depended on it; only that, once his life did depend on it, he had reigned himself in, sometimes with obvious difficulties, but he had managed. Now, as if fate was playing one of her cynical games again, it was Lucius who had become the brat. And hadn't Severus told Harry in their Occlumency lessons that this was the ultimate sign of weakness?

Cygnus would have been appalled had he seen what had just happened.

Even Marcus Malfoy and the other Vykélari portraits stared at them in silence and Severus couldn't help but wonder if they were more taken aback by the patriarch's behaviour or Draco's disobedience.

Merlin, what was he supposed to do? If he supported Draco, Lucius might end up in prison, and that after all he had done to keep him out of it. And for what? For James Potter's little mirror image.

Only that James would never have put aside a feud that had lasted for the better part of a decade to help his enemy escape the naked walls of a prison cell. And Harry Potter had never, not once, harassed or bullied another student, well aside from Draco, but his godchild had never wasted a chance to get the better of his nemesis himself, so he supposed both boys more than deserved what they got. Mostly.

And he couldn't ban those memories any longer from his mind, those memories of a child raised in the darkness of a cupboard, always on the run when he was not playing House Elf, running from a barking, growling dog and his vicious, fat cousin and his goons. Memories of that loud, obnoxious whale of a man who treated his nephew so harshly it was a small miracle that the young man he had become had any self-confidence to begin with – never mind that Severus had never found the Potter brat lacking in that regard, rather the contrary much to his regret.  
And most of all, Petunia's scrunched up face, always looking at Potter as if he was something her sister-in-law's foul dog had thrown up on her carpet.

Hadn't Severus' own father looked at him just like that?

Maybe, he reflected with a humourless snort, that was why he had felt the unquenchable thirst to put the boy down even after he had seen those memories, because he, Severus Snape, had not managed to bounce back and continue as if nothing had happened after his own abuse.  
And Severus had had a room to sleep in.

In any case, while he still thought the boy to be a rash, obnoxious brat with more luck than judgement who was in no way 'husband material', especially for his precious godson, he truly thought that the boy did not deserve another prison, especially one of the kind Lucius planned to force him into.

So he watched as Narcissa, having come to stand next to her raging husband, effectively calmed him with a few well-chosen words, explaining to him her plan to trap Harry Potter without Draco and Blaise ever learning of it and his resolve hardened.

He had promised to help protect Lily Potter's son, and as long as the brat would not stop getting into problems too big to crawl away from on his own hands and feet, he would do just that.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
This was far longer then I intended it to be, but that seems to have become my curse.

I know that Lucius has been much more controlled in previous chapters but I think, considering his behaviour in the books, his reaction to this for him disastrous turn of events is still in character.

And I hope Draco's and Blaise's reactions didn't disappoint.

In any case I hope you liked the chapter and if you feel like it, leave me a review, I'd be delighted.


	20. Prepare To Strike The Unprepared

**CHAPTER 20: Prepare To Strike The Unprepared  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES:**  
Hey all of you!

Thank you very much for all the wonderful reviews! Honestly, I loved them and each and every time my mailbox gives that certain sound signal, my heart literally skips a beat, which, I admit makes concentrating a bit difficult ;-)...

But I must admit that RL keeps me so busy I simply have to give up trying to answer regularly. I'm just pretty much overhauled as it is and I'm simply not managing to do it. I'll try to answer questions and when I find the time, I'll answer the reviews as well. Still, if I don't, please don't think your reviews weren't appreciated, they certainly are!

Now please enjoy the chapter, hopefully.

Link for the Anonymous Review Replies is on my profile

* * *

Since the meeting with their parents had been shorter than anticipated and they had no intention of disturbing Harry and his friends and cutting their time together short as well, Blaise and Draco used the thusly gained extra time to inform both Adler and Ives of what had transpired between them and their parents just now.

The two portraits, while being somewhat shocked at the article (well, truthfully Draco was not sure if Adler had been fazed at all, but Ives' eyes had betrayed his inner feelings, widening and flickering towards his husband's unwavering, stony expression) they had not been overly surprised by Lucius' and their mothers' behaviour but alarmed nonetheless and they had advised them to take precautionary measures now that Harry's status as a submissive had become common knowledge – not that that piece of advice had been in any way necessary. Sometimes Adler was just overbearing.

In hindsight though, Draco thought regretfully, they maybe should have brought the two paintings with them to the conference room to begin with, perhaps the situation with Lucius, Narcissa and Amalyne would not have gotten out of hand so spectacularly if his ancestor's painting had been there as well, because he knew that Adler and his snidely remarks sometimes sufficed to humble a raving mind enough to reinstall some logic to it. But in all honesty, Draco had his doubts.

His father had always been unmovable in his goals and wishes and always pursued them ruthlessly, never letting others, not even his own wife, influence his decisions. He did what he thought was best for himself and his family, for everyone carrying the proud Malfoy name and admittedly, most often his leadership was beneficial for all of them, his plans well-conceived if sometimes a bit daring and risky. In fact, if not for the mess with the Dark Lord, the Malfoy name would still be flourishing under Lucius' care, their family thriving due to the questionable but effective methods he used in his endeavour to make the world bend to his will and grovel at his feet.

He, Lucius Malfoy.

But if he fell, Draco had no doubt that he might never ascend again; his transgressions were too severe and too many. The worst was that his father was not even aware of just how close he was to the abyss; and now that he had thought of a solution, he would not even consider another one, much less listen to his son and fiancé as they proposed a plan that might still not be enough to save him from prison. He would try to force Harry into their arms or make Draco and Blaise do it for him.

And wouldn't that be oh so easy, to threaten Harry's friends and blackmail the young submissive, especially now after they had made Pansy give the Weasleys her mirror, made them trust Blaise and Draco a little bit; they could just march into the Burrow and kidnap the two or three that Harry loved the most by slipping them time fused portkeys... or ask Pansy to do it, the girl would probably find some twisted fun in playing games with bloodtraitors.  
Harry would have no choice but to give himself to them, establish the connection and let them do whatever they wanted to him. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived could be his – body, mind and magic – without much of an effort.

If only they would gain more than a vessel of hate or worse, a breathing corpse. Because those lively eyes would either die or forever burn with betrayal that time would transform into disgust and loathing as surely as any seed can do nothing but perish or become whatever plant it was destined to grow into.

That must not happen.

Draco was not sure if he could stand to see those vibrant, spring-green eyes regard him in such a way, let alone touch the lithe body while the vitriolic pools of emerald glared daggers at him or were closed against tears of desperation and resignation that would nevertheless escape in bitter rivulets.

What a repulsive image.

That alone would have been reason enough to protect the Gryffindor from the fate his father wanted to enforce upon him, had been reason enough to vow on a Tiwaz rune that Harry was safe from them, but it wasn't the only one.

The truth was that Draco loved his parents dearly and being raised with the beliefs of purebloods and the old wizarding traditions meant to be raised to be loyal to them as well; the notion couldn't be suppressed entirely even while at the same moment he couldn't quite ignore Blaise's harsh, furious words during that conversation with Adler and Ives. _'They are reducing us to mere tools!'_ he had growled, 'Pawns to be pushed around on their chessboard'.  
If only Draco could honestly say that he hadn't thought the same when his father had tried to force him to submit to his wishes, practically telling him he had been a disgrace so far, never having fulfilled his duty to his family. Of course Draco had know that his father had never quite forgiven him for not revealing Harry Potter that day in Malfoy Manor but still the words had hurt. And consequently an indignant voice now whispered alluringly inside his head that his father mistook a duty to their family with a duty to him as an individual, that it would be oh so satisfactory to just throw the disrespect shown to him right back in his face and leave him to take the consequences of his own damn failures, failures that nearly had cost their family everything. Talking about the duty to the Malfoy clan...

But that would be petty, spiteful defiance and unworthy of any Malfoy heir and even though his fiancé talked about surpassing their parents and a literal Ragnarök of both of their families, Draco wasn't quite ready yet to abandon either his mother or his father and so, even though he couldn't deny the not insubstantial level of affection he held for their greenfinch that had caused him to pledge more than just his protection to Harry by swearing to do right by him, and even though it was the only possible outcome of his inner debate, Draco would have probably needed more time for the decision making, if he didn't think protecting Harry to be in his father's interest as well.

Because, assuming that Lucius was successful and the three young Vykélari returned to England now as bond mates and assuming that this led to Lucius being acquitted of all charges in his trials at the end of the month ... if only one single wizard found out, the Malfoy patriarch might find himself hunted down in a dark alleyway and lynched for his crimes against someone who had been practically declared a national treasure. And there was at least one wizard who would recognize their betrayal for what it was immediately from the bleeding of the Tiwaz rune. It would be foolish indeed to hope that Harry's best friend would keep silent or not take revenge when he himself had sworn to do so.

No, if Draco wanted to save his family, he would have to keep them away from Harry, even if it meant a few years of Azkaban for his father.

And so, within the next hour, Blaise assembled all House Elves to instruct them not to let anyone enter the grounds of Lanai Manor, to protect Harry by all means necessary if someone or something should gain entrance and make sure the submissive would use the portkey to flee if such a situation should arrive; to which end he of course revoked Harry's ban to leave – it wouldn't do to trap Harry inside the house and its surrounding gardens without any chance of getting himself out of harm's way.

Furthermore Blaise ordered his servants to intercept all incoming owls and not let their submissive have any letter without them having read it first or at least being present when he read it.  
It was partly a precaution against Narcissa, who, if she had truly found a way to gain as much power over Harry as she professed to have, must not be allowed to contact the young submissive at all; but it was also a measure targeting other dominant Vykélari and possibly some of the more fanatic followers of the light. There were many who would risk quite a lot to not see Harry bound to such powerful, dark families after all.

One could argue that it might have been more efficient to just change the wards but neither Blaise nor Draco were exceptionally experienced and a mistake could weaken the Manor's defences considerably, a danger they weren't prepared to risk.

Additionally, on Adler's wish, Blaise granted both Vykélari portraits a House Elf as a servant to do their bidding so that in an emergency their long deceased advisors could take action on their own.

Now, after securing the Manor as best as they could, Draco and Blaise had only one more thing to do in their attempt to take care of the factors that made Harry vulnerable; a last precaution which, to Draco's endless irritation, pertained fully to Harry's friends.

Trying to wrap his mind about that felt a bit as if he was trying to swallow a dry, scrunched up ball of parchment of equally dry 22 inches history of magic homework. It was inconceivable and certainly unprecedented, but it would happen nonetheless: Draco Malfoy was actually going to have to protect the last descendants of a family with which his own had had a blood feud for generations as well as a muggleborn, a girl that had punched him once, for Merlin's sake!

The beaver and the weasels. Well, the matter at least didn't lack a certain amount of irony, considering he had spent some terrific moments as a ferret himself. In a way, he fit right in, didn't he?

God, the very notion of doing what he was going to do, was driving him mad...

But he wasn't complaining as he walked alongside Blaise to Harry's rooms again. A sense of foreboding had flooded him since they had left the conference room under the critical gazes of the Roman Triumvirate Jupiter, Juno and Apollo; it was like the looming presence of a Grim and it made his muscles tense and his wings flex beneath the skin of his back.

Maybe it had something to do with the grim silence of his fiancé, with how fiercely the Italian looked ahead, his jaw set and the ligaments of his throat protruding.

But then, Draco wasn't surprised. Blaise knew best what his mother was capable of and together, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy and Amalyne Zabini were indeed a striking triumvirate themselves, the British Triumvirate whose wrath, power and cunning should not be taken lightly.

Nonetheless, he hated seeing him so tense even if he knew that a certain amount of unrest was healthy in their situation. There was nothing better after all to sharpen one's alertness. So he aligned his steps to those of Blaise and laid an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, pressing a kiss on the fabric there just as Blaise had done to him in that elevator that had brought them to the Spell Damage wing in St. Mungo's and to Harry.  
And just like Draco had done that day, which seemed to be a lifetime away now, Blaise relaxed slightly and rested his cheek on Draco's forehead for a few precious moments, his arm sneaking around Draco's chest also.

* * *

Harry had started to become restless when the two Slytherins had been gone for longer than the agreed two hours. After all he knew already that it wasn't like them to be late... and the article, what if they had learned of it by now? If they were able to give him the means to directly speak with his friends over such a distance then surely they would have someone back in England who'd already have informed them about it via the same or at least a similar method.

Honestly, Harry was a bit nervous about their reaction. Of course he didn't expect them to go back on all of their promises and try to end the whole sticky situation by making him mate with them and he was convinced that they would do their best to keep him safe – which was still a rather strange, weird conception; it wasn't as if he had ever depended on others to protect him or thought he would in no way be able to deal with his inheritance without them holding and patting his hand. In any case he didn't rate them as a danger to himself.

But from the little that Blaise and Draco and also Ives had told him, it had been customary to go into complete isolation after the _younger_ and _stronger_ one of a pair of Vykélari came into his inheritance. He didn't want to lose the contact to his friends again; Merlin, he hadn't known how much he had missed talking to them until just now, with them sitting there in front of him. Everything just always seemed so trivial and manageable when they were together, the Golden Trio. And sitting now on a heap of sofa cushions scattered over the floor in front of that mirror, listening to Mione and Ron prattling on about Teddy and Remus and Tonks, how the twins had secretly started to search for all Malfoy and Zabini properties, coming up with crazy but ingenious plans to break into each and every one of them in an attempt to find and rescue Harry, and that Arthur had informed Kreacher of the situation and that the Elf almost had a heart attack from the elation of serving a Vykélari master who would soon join with a _proper_ pureblood family. After having been given several potions – amongst them a Calming Draught and an Invigoration Draught – the old and still exuberantly happy Kreacher had started to clean up Grimmauld Place with an unprecedented vigour. Listening to all of that, it was as if he was hearing them speak of someone else, as if the nightmarish full moon of a few days ago had never happened, as if he was just on ... on the first vacation of his life...

Harry didn't want to lose that again for who knew how long.

And he still wanted to return to Hogwarts even if it should prove to be dangerous.

Well, if Blaise and Draco tried to clip his wings and lock him up like a tame canary, he'd show them just how _submissive_ he really was... but somehow he doubted he'd have to resort to any underhanded tactics, well, as long as Blaise managed to keep his hands to himself that is. Aside from that, the two Slytherins had shown themselves surprisingly willing to compromise.

And even more empathetic than he had ever imagined a Slytherin to be able to be, what with how they had treated him after learning of the more gruesome details of his first transformation. A bit clumsy, maybe, in their – very unnecessary – efforts to spare him further distress, but one should appreciate the effort, right? It didn't seem much different from appreciating Molly's protectiveness when she had tried to keep him and her children away from the Order's work and the gruesome news of the Death Eaters' attacks while being determined to join the fighting and the war nonetheless, knowing that he was inevitably the pivotal figure to victory.

Was this the madness that Hermione had spoken of? Was he being blinded by a pathetic gratefulness for whatever scraps of kindness and affection, faked or real, were thrown at him, so much so that he confused his own feelings? Saw and felt things in Draco's and Blaise's expressions and emotions that were not there?  
The thought was fleeting and it wavered in his mind mistily, vague as a mirage and the closer he thought about it, the surer he was of its falsity with the memories of their short connections a reassuring, warm balance to this new argument... much clearer though, was the small but ever-growing seed of indignation of being analysed and judged like a laboratory rat, grouped together with countless other pitiful 'victims' falling for those with power over them. Who should have the right to say that empathy and compassion were wrong, even if they were spent on someone who had harmed you? Everyone was the product of their environment; almost everyone could become a criminal under the right circumstances. Sirius had been a thief and both he and Remus had almost become the murderers of Peter Pettigrew, even in front of thirteen year old teenagers. Severus had done unspeakable things but in the end he had become a hero in Harry's eyes even if many would not think so and even if he was still an ass.

There were always too sides to every coin so why not show a bit understanding? Wasn't that the reason he had witnessed for Draco and Narcissa to begin with? Because he had understood how they had been driven into a corner. And no one could say that it had been the Stockholm Syndrome speaking then and not his overactive sense of justice.  
Whether he was crazy or not, anyone who just bothered to look could see that both Blaise and Draco were trying their best. Who was he to deny them another chance? Dumbledore would have wanted him to think and act like that, Harry was sure. While the old wizard had undeniably committed countless mistakes in his long life, Harry refused to believe that this attitude was one of them. The war might never have been won if Albus Dumbledore hadn't given a certain young Slytherin the benefit of a doubt, even though Harry really couldn't endorse how the headmaster had used Snape as a spy.

Harry was just contemplating if it would be too bothersome trying to convince his two friends of his point of view – they could be frustratingly stubborn and sometimes Harry thought that there were no weapons or defences against the weird, counterintuitive logic of women – when a quiet knock interrupted his friends' chatter, the gentle trickle of words drying out immediately and a guarded veil descending to curtain their expression but Harry didn't pay them much attention, too busy with the little summersaults his stomach did as if he was again falling into a warm thermal suddenly raising him higher and higher.

The reason for that of course was nothing more than Harry's understandable apprehension regarding that damnable article, nothing else. Really. Well, and the fear that his friends and his hosts might tear each other to pieces over said article.

And the concern that it might harm Draco and Blaise.

"Just come in!" He called out quickly, then became uncomfortably aware of how gracelessly he slouched there on the probably very expensive cushions scattered over the ground as he supported his body on his arms that were propped up behind him. His fingers twitched with the sudden urge to sit up straighter, but he thought better of it, especially when the two Slytherins entered, lips bursting into smirks upon seeing his position. Why the hell would he suddenly start being concerned about offending the snakes with his disregard for appearances? This was who he was and he wouldn't change that; if they really wanted to court him, then the whole package with the lack of manners.  
Besides, Ron and Hermione were showing as little care for decorum as he was, having abandoned their chairs for the floor long ago and weren't they as the Gryffindor lions entitled to some lying about? Big cats were like that.

With confident steps Draco and Blaise stalked over to him, giving curt nods of greeting to his friends, unperturbed by the heavy silence filling the room, a silence that Harry was uncomfortably aware of as he prayed to any deity who might listen to please have those four behave civilly towards each other.

Well, the Slytherins at least seemed to have decided on the very popular tactic of suppression, sauntering over to the three of them with a truly commendable nonchalance and confidence as if Draco hadn't spent the better part of their acquaintance hexing them on corridors or trying to get them expelled and as if Blaise hadn't advocated the superiority of purebloods just like any of their peers. Maybe not as loud as others, but not with any less conviction. Well, as long as Mione and Ron would play along and also ignore their past, the strategy might even work.

There was a certain tenseness to their movements, though, and it caused the concern in Harry to spike uncomfortably.

"You are late." He said, because it was the first way coming to his mind to get to the bottom of their unrest without having to directly reveal the article in front of Mione and Ron if Blaise and Draco did not yet know of it. Surely they wouldn't appreciate having to learn of this newest debacle with such an audience.

As Blaise's gaze flickered from him to the folded Daily Prophet lying directly at Hermione's feet and then, with a calculating steeliness, to his friends, Harry knew however that they had already been informed about the article after all. Biting his lips he wondered whether he should tell his friends he'd see them later and discuss the situation privately with his hosts.

Surely, though, Hermione and Ron would bug him for answers later anyway and their overprotective flood of concern might even be alleviated a little bit if they got the chance to observe for themselves that the two Slytherins were not treating him badly even when his presence caused them such difficulties. But on the other hand he hated how unreadable, cold and haughty Draco and Blaise became in the presence of others and he didn't want to bring them into an uncomfortable position should they want to keep their thoughts and plans to the two – no, the three of them; because Harry would not let them keep him out of affairs that concerned him also.

"I am sorry we kept you waiting." Draco gave him a smile that was all angles and sharpness and with an uncomfortable twinge Harry noticed that the serenity that had fought its way through the polished surface of their demeanour as resilient and unrelenting as dandelion breaking through stone, had given way to the frosty, slightly aggressive, sharp-edged determination that Harry knew all too well from their years of fighting.

"No worries..." Harry began, waving the apology away. But his words were distracted at best; there was something in the blonde's steely eyes as they, too, fell onto the article laying to Hermione's feet, something he couldn't quite name but didn't like either way. As if those silver grey orbs were lakes covered with ice and frost, hiding whatever lurked beneath.

A moment later it was gone, but it was enough to convince Harry that it would be better for Hermione and Ron not to be there. The last thing he needed right now was for the fronts between them and Blaise and Draco to harden even further over something like this.

Intent on bidding the other two parts of his triumvirate goodbye for now, Harry turned back around just to halt and frown at the hard and intent expression on Ron's face as he stared at the Slytherins while he tapped with the forefinger of his right hand against a point on his unclothed left forearm. The gesture seemed oddly ominous, almost, like the bared teeth of a manticore.

Confused, Harry turned back to Draco and Blaise, wondering what was going on, especially when he saw both of the Slytherins inclining their head deliberately.  
"What?" Harry demanded, his gaze wandering between the three other men. "Since when are _you_ having silent conversations of all people?"

Knowing that his long-time friend was much easier to get information from than the snakes, Harry finally settled on following Hermione suit and turning his questioning stare back to Ron's stubborn, freckled face.

"Weasley was merely making sure we'd keep the promise we gave him earlier." Blaise answered, before Ron could and Harry raised his eyebrows critically. "Do I want to know?"

The Italian smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing we haven't already promised you."

Harry swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat. The only promises the Slytherins had given him were that they would let him return to Hogwarts and not let anyone try and make Harry enter a mating bond if he was unwilling. God, this was embarrassing. Had his best friend really made the two man who intended to court Harry vow not to force him into, well, marriage and sex? Rolling his eyes, more to overcome the heat tainting his cheeks than true annoyance, Harry gave Ron a wry look that clearly meant 'I can fight my own battles'. At least the redhead seemed as embarrassed as he was, the tip of his ears camouflaging to match the flicks of fiery red hair falling over them like the skin of a chameleon.

"Whatever." Harry coughed, deciding he really didn't want to dwell on this any longer than necessary. He stood, bowing down to take up the cushion he had been resting on as his friends raised behind him also. "I'll be along in a moment, I'll just..."

"Actually," Draco said with a certain, grave quality to his voice, "we need to speak with the three of you."

Immediately the atmosphere in the room sharpened as if filled with invisible glass shards that would hurt and cut and slice if only they had but a fraction more of substance.

"I am sure you have read Miss Crane's article in the Daily Prophet today." Draco roughly gestured to the newspaper still lying on the ground next to Mione who uttered an amused "indeed" after following his gaze.

Then, to Harry's dismay, his friend cocked her head, sending the long locks of nut brown hair flying, before she said "I especially liked the part where she said how purebloods were trampling over the rights of everyone else... or was that the Mediwizard?"  
A snarky smile worthy of a Slytherin curled her lips as a bark of laughter bubbled out of Ron. She was teasing, Harry knew that, but she was also and more importantly testing the men who held the future of one of her best friends in their clawed hands.

"Mione!" Harry's voice lashed out like a whip. "Will you _please_ stop that!"

* * *

With a certain satisfaction Blaise watched their submissive leap to their defence. Such a fierce sense of justice, what a strong personality.

But the brunette remained rather unaffected, staying silent as she considered them attentively, neither apologizing nor pressing the point further and Blaise understood that it was a test, a test of how they reacted to the sharp critic voiced in that article. There could be no doubt that Granger would try her hardest to get Harry out of their reach should she decide that they were too traditional in their opinions on purebloods and especially on Vykélari mating.  
Secretly, though, Blaise thought with a smile, that the jibe could just as well have come from Pansy. What would Granger say if he told her that?

Next to him Draco cocked his head, cold amusement rolling off him in palpable waves and Blaise folded his hands in front of him, preparing himself for what could only become a very entertaining speech.

"Yes? Well I am rather indecisive..." The blond started, tipping one elegant finger to his chin as if he were deep in thought. "I liked how Palmer, out of all the examples of self-governed institutions she could have used, chose Hogwarts to point out where the ministry should take a more active role – especially after that went wrong so spectacularly so very recently."

Blaise smiled slightly, lowering his head to hide it. His Dragon... he had not thought Draco would go so far as to imply that he now in hindsight preferred Dumbledor's way of governing the school to the ministry's. Of course he knew that the former headmaster had made a lasting impression on Draco on his death day ... but even if that were not so, it was a rather neat strategy to use on the Gryffindor's.

"But then again," Draco continued, his voice hardening to cold steel for but a moment even though his expression remained carefully pleasant "the hypocrisy of that Mediwizard blaming us for supposedly mistreating Harry after the way they handled him in St. Mungo's is nothing less than rich. And the irresponsible attempt to set off a movement that would lead to more power being handed to the ministry directly after we saw in the Second Wizarding War that the power structures within the ministry are too open for abuse should at least keep us all in suspense for the next few weeks – or years if Crane is successful."  
For a moment, Draco was silent, nodding to himself with a tiny smile as if he was thinking of something particularly entertaining, before ending with a nonchalant shrug and a jested "well, at least we won't be bored. But, you know, I would rather stabilize the ministry first and then give it more power rather than giving it all the power and then hoping it will rule fairly, wouldn't you?"

In the following silence, Blaise was sure, one could have heard a needle falling to the ground and he almost, almost laughed at the gobsmacked expressions on both Weasley's and Harry's face.  
Gosh, their sweet submissive.  
Granger though, remained silent and thoughtful and Blaise knew that the girl would look past the slights and the sarcasm and focus on the truly important points Draco had made with deadly accuracy. She had such a witty, sharp mind, he'd have to grant her as much.  
"She said that?" Harry asked incredulously before shaking his head once and starting to glare at Draco and him again. "Wait, never mind. Will you all just stop antagonizing each other?"

But before either Blaise or Draco could answer, Granger muttered behind them. "Yes, I guess she _did_ say that. You know, I never saw it like this. Still, now with Shacklebold as the minister the situation is quite different than with Fudge or Scrimgeour. He is fair and just and will undoubtedly push through many reforms during his term that will be more than beneficial for the Wizarding World. Honestly, I think we could do worse than giving him the power to really restructure the ministry..."

Smugly, Draco raised an eyebrow at their young Vykélari as if to say _'See? I'm not antagonizing anyone...'_ and Blaise rolled his eyes, only glad that the brunette had not been affronted by Draco's complacent manner, even though he had suspected she wouldn't. The last thing they needed right now was an angry Harry blaming them for deliberately annoying his friends.

Therefore, before either Draco or the lioness on the opposite side of the mirror could derail the situation, he interfered. "In any case we didn't ask you to stay just to discuss the finer intricacies of Crane's article, only its repercussions."

Draco nodded and raised his chin with the air of someone determined to face his fate with dignity. "At least until the school term starts, you should consider moving into a safe house with your family. If you have no suitable place to stay, I could provide one. But it is not exactly a secret that you and Harry are close and now that Harry's status as a submissive is known, you might be targeted."

A sharp intake of breath tore Blaise's and Draco's gazes away from the young pair in the mirror to their submissive standing there like a statue, watching them sharply.  
"You think someone might attack my friends now?"

Blaise's gaze darted to Granger and Weasley whose postures had straightened, their expressions those of experienced soldiers told that they were the last line of defence, not allowed to retreat however powerful their enemy would prove to be. Well, at least they could commend them for their loyalty even if the situation called for more subtlety than that.

"To be honest I think that they will be relatively safe from other dominant Vykélari for the moment, since the article brought so much attention to the situation and after the war you have the public's sympathy and admiration: threatening anyone close to you will be difficult to conceal and thus, any British dominant trying to attain you as a mate using that tactic will have to brave the public's chagrin. And most foreign Vykélari will need a day or two at best to react to the article and then get the necessary information on your weaknesses, your friends. But..."

Blaise fell silent, looking asquint at his lover to take over. After all it was due to Lucius Malfoy that their parents had now become shadows in Harry's foe glass and it was only right that Draco was the one to tell him that.

"It's your family, isn't it?" Granger asked softly, her alert eyes resting on Draco.

Irritation dripped from the Slytherin Ice Prince's being at that like poison from the fang of a king cobra, less from the aggravation of the unpleasant matter with their parents than from having the muggleborn guess the truth so quickly, so unerringly and not even with a hint of accusation.

"Yes." Draco said tersely, hating how Weasley gave a curt nod as if he had never expected something else. Of course Draco hadn't either, not truly, but that was beside the point! He reigned in the biting comments threatening to spill from his tongue though; Harry surely would not react favourably.

"It seems Miss Crane's appeal to the public might influence the outcome of my father's trial in two weeks negatively." Draco administered the explanation with a detached coolness, it was either that or having the claws prickling under the nails at his fingertips ripping out of him. His fingers twitched already as it was. "Consequently our parents now wish for us to mate Harry and bring him home."

Both Blaise and Draco had steeled themselves for an explosion of some sort, for threats and anger and fury and outrage as uncontainable and grand as fiendfyre. But Weasley and Granger only stood there watching them intently and calculatingly and perhaps the redhead remembered that they had already assured him once more that they would honour the Tiwaz Vow and perhaps Granger had already deduced the nature of the promise they had mentioned in front of her earlier. Blaise wouldn't put it past her. At least they seemed to be prepared to let them declare themselves.

Harry, though, had cringed next to them and that was worse than anything the other two Gryffindors could ever have said or done. It caused Blaise's stomach to churn uncomfortably and a wave of bitterness to drench Draco. Merlin, why did their parents have to destroy everything?

"We told them that we wouldn't." Draco asserted forcefully, eyes ablaze, and the anger over the need to even voice that reassurance made his voice tight.

Blinking once, twice, Harry tilted his head, frowning at them as if he doubted their intelligence. "I know!"  
Then his stance softened and his left hand flew to his right to again start to torture his knuckles. His eyes broke away and he shrugged with one shoulder only, the very image of chagrin. Blaise was sure those feathers in his hair would have flattened the untameable raven mass down against his skull, had they been visible then and there.

"I never thought this could reflect on you like this. I'm sorry." he said and Blaise felt his shoulders relax, a flash of relief and golden warmth pulsing through his chest like the song of a phoenix. Harry wasn't afraid of them, no, even better: as ridiculous as the idea was, their sweet nightingale was indeed regretting that they were falling into disrepute because they had _abducted_ him.  
Honestly, Blaise couldn't fathom why the brunet would ever feel that way or even how he could defend that unconceivable notion in his own head, he only knew that it was somehow typical, typical Harry.  
Which meant that yes, Weasley was right, and Harry needed to be protected from himself the most. He was powerful, one of the best duellists Blaise had ever seen and intelligent as well, but he didn't know when selfishness was called for.

"If you need me to do something about the article… I could help, you know?"  
'Quod erat demonstrandum' Blaise thought with an exasperated sigh.

Suddenly the fire was back in the leaf green eyes, in his posture and the way he carried himself and Harry looked up and crossed his arms, stubbornly and defiantly staring at them. "I won't witness for your father or…"

Draco shook his head. "You do not need to do anything at all."

But he wanted to. It was evident in the way the muscles in his jaw tightened, while those expressive iridescent eyes of his flickered away in annoyance at being brushed off. And Blaise couldn't stand it. Not when his own mother desired him to be nothing more than a lovesick, whipped, hand tame gosling blinking adoringly up at them from the ground at Blaise's and Draco's feet, not when she, Narcissa and Lucius wanted him mindlessly and helplessly bound to their families, a vessel of light and power blinding everyone else to conceal their deficiencies and allow them to strive for even more power unnoticed. And Blaise and Draco would be nothing more than the leashes to bind the submissive with, their parents' tools.

It was not to be borne.

"Harry," Blaise murmured softly as he stepped in front of the submissive to cup his cheek, ignoring the annoyed coughing of Weasley behind him, confident that if Harry's friends wanted to interfere, Draco wouldn't let them. Who the hell cared if they found the gesture too intimate, inappropriate? As long as the colibrí turned his head just so into the hollow of his hand, almost leaning into the touch, as long as it got those emeralds to _see_ him, as long as he could make him understand…

"You have done enough already for people that wronged you so grievously, still want to. I don't think you quite understand just how much: Lucius wants us to subdue you and parade you around like a marionette – not even a trophy husband but a puppet without will. And Narcissa, she claims to have something to hold over your head, something that will give them absolute power over you, and she will use it without second thought… I will not even speak of what my mother would be prepared to do to entrap you hopelessly."

Quite frankly, Blaise felt a bit vengeful after Lucius had hurt his Dragon, after Amalyne had held her derogatory speech about Harry.  
"I do not want you to do _anything_ for them."

Throughout the spiteful words, Blaise kept stroking with his thumb over Harry's cheekbone, his little finger resting just behind the pulse point at the tan column of flesh and sinews, still feeling the echo of the angry beat – Or was that his own? – wondering if the younger Vykélari understood that he was prepared to be just as cruel and ruthless and devious if Harry needed him to be, if Draco needed him to be.

And Harry looked at him and for the first time since that night in the hospital, there was that certain, cruel realisation carved into the very flesh and skin of his face. For the very first time, Blaise believed that their nightingale truly comprehended the nature of his situation. He wasn't sure though if he found it desirable or regrettable.

"But they are your parents."

"Yes," Draco said from where he stood close to Blaise's left shoulder, his voice deceptively soft and gentle, the weight of his hand coming to rest heavily on the Italian's forearm, in a subtle restrictive gesture. "And maybe, when this all is over, they will see that they were wrong."

Immediately Blaise knew he had overstepped boundaries that shouldn't even have been approached. Not only had he, in his anger, revealed much more than he should have in front of Granger and Weasley who might repeat his words to a certain journalist in the worst case, no he had also put his lover and fiancé, his Dragon, into a very tight spot. Because helping his own parents now without losing face in front of Harry or Harry's friends would be difficult at best and Blaise had known that Draco didn't want to condemn Lucius to his fate, didn't want to sever the ties of blood between his parents and him and throw them to the wolves. And though Blaise couldn't care less after the words Lucius had thrown at Draco earlier in a fit of rage, whether the Malfoy patriarch had meant them or not, it wasn't his decision to abandon the man.

Therefore, Blaise stepped back from their submissive, searching forgiveness from his fiancé with nothing more than a quick glance, relieved that it was granted with a curt nod and a reassuring squeeze to his forearm.  
"In any case you should stay as far away from the three of them as possible for now." Blaise said to Harry's Gryffindors, hoping to distract them from his earlier words. "Preferably in a safe house. Also, some of my Italian Vykélari relatives were at Draco's and my Engagement Party and they might still be in Britain. They won't be held back by the fear of angering the local wizards."

"My father and brothers can't just stop going to work." Weasley said matter-of-factly.

"I can't force you of course." Draco conceded, albeit with a certain tenseness to his voice. "But it would be best if at least the two of you and your sister, Jenny..."

"Ginny!"

"Yes, Ginny, I'm sorry." Blaise smiled inwardly as not even he could detect a hint of sarcasm in Draco's voice. "At least the three of you should consider going into hiding until Hogwarts reopens."

Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly. "You really think this is necessary? I mean why would someone attack my friends if they can't blackmail me with it? And how would anyone be able to blackmail me when they can't contact me? Nobody knows where we are; I mean that is why you brought me here in the first place, isn't it?"

"As long as we do not know who might have read your letter, Harry, we can't be sure about that."

Guiltily Harry bit his lips, regret pulsing from him in dark, ominous waves and Blaise wished Draco hadn't worded it like this, because there was nothing as unbearable to Harry as endangering his friends and now, the letter he had written in a moment of improvidence was doing just that and it wasn't as if their submissive needed or deserved to be reminded of his mistake.

Coming to the same conclusion, Draco narrowed his eyes, clicked his tongue and raised his chin in obviously feigned haughtiness, intent on providing some distraction in the only way he knew how with these three. "I know the concept is probably difficult to grasp for you Gryffindorks, but it is better to be safe than sorry."

"Says the guy who strutted up to a Hippogryph, unarmed, and refused to bow." Granger quipped, rolling her eyes.

Draco waved the comment away with a sniff and a sharp head movement. "I was thirteen. And I learned my lesson."

Weasley smirked at them sharply like the carnivore that he was. "Yeah, well, but not that it sometimes can be better to face your enemies head-on. Understandable of course, I know that this concept has to be impossible to grasp for a snake."

Blaise shrugged unperturbed. "But it generally saves especially human resources to use more sly tactics then a direct onset. 'He will be victorious, who prepared himself to strike at his unprepared enemy'(1)."

"Where's the honour in that?"

"Where's the honour in losing?" Draco asked back.

"Of course a Slytherin would say something like that."

"Guys!" Harry called out in helpless exasperation. "Could you please just try to get along? Or _pretend_ to?"

A little bit embarrassed, Weasley shrugged apologetically; but the two Slytherins remained silent and smug, after all they had achieved what they wanted: there was no hint of the earlier, foul dejection marring Harry's features now, even though he still looked more mature and serious than suited him.

"Anyway" The brunet continued, raking a hand through his raven locks until they looked like something a blackbird might try to nest in. "Could you two and Ginny maybe at least not go anywhere alone and ... you know, the usual safety precautions against portkeys in letters and all that stuff. I'd really feel better if you..."

"Fine," Granger sighed, adjusting her stance. "You know my parents are still in Australia, in the Muggleworld – I sent them there for the duration of the war and I've only just gotten back in touch with them" She added with a quick glance towards Blaise and Draco.  
"We'll talk with Molly and Arthur first, of course, but we could go there. Though it will take me a few days, two at least to get the necessary portkeys."

A bit of the tenseness that Blaise had felt piercing his body during the last two hours faded away gently like spears turned to nothingness. Granger, Weasley and that girl that had been so close to binding their Harry to her would be safe and as such, Harry would be, too. Because, while the Boy-Who-Lived had an undeniable hero complex and would never leave a friend in danger, there were only a few people that Blaise knew had that kind of value that would make Harry rush into danger for them mindlessly, thoughtlessly, unable to see reason.

Only a few days more, a few days until the three Gryffindors would safely be leaving Britain.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES:**  
Well, this was awkward. Really. I started writing the part with all five of them in Hermione's and Ron's POV which was SO awkward that I had to delete it. Then I tried writing it in Draco's and Blaise's POV, which was, again, so awkward and stilted that I had to stop. Then I tried Harry which started out well but then became truly awkward ONCE AGAIN. Therefore the changing POVs...

Such a hellish chapter to write, I'm glad it is done. But I hope you like it nonetheless.

The next chapter has their date and then I have a not quite little surprise that has me silently smirking like an evil Slytherin, but which, I'm afraid might make you want to throw stones at me.

For now though, I have another surprise, or actually a surprise from **LemonGoldenTree**, who drew a wonderful **FANART** for Night Flight. Please have a look and leave her a comment, she'd surely be positively delighted! I put the link on my profile.

(1) Sun Tzu, The Art of War. I translated that from the German version I have.


End file.
